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Historical Tales 



The Romance of Reality 



BY 

CHARLES MORRIS 

AUTHOR OF *' HALF-HOURS WITH THE BEST AMERICAN 
AUTHORS," "tales FROM THE DRAMATISTS," "KING 
ARTHUR AND THE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND-TABLE," ETC. 



AMERICAN ^ \ 



PHIL ADELP HIA 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

1893 

I 



2 S-tr^/ y 



Ens 

|V\81? 



Copyright, 1893, 

BY 

J. B. LippiNcoTT Company. 



Printed by J. B. Lifpincott Company, Philadelphia. 



PREFACE. 



It has become a commonplace remark that fact is 
often stranger than fiction. It may be said, as a 
variant of this, that history is often more romantic 
than romance. The pages of the record of man's 
doings are frequently illustrated by entertaining 
and striking incidents, relief points in the dull mo- 
notony of every-day events, stories fitted to rouse 
the reader from languid weariness and stir anew in 
his veins the pulse of interest in human life. There 
are many such, — dramas on the stage of history, life 
scenes that are pictures in action, tales pathetic, 
stirring, enlivening, full of the element of the un- 
usual, of the stufi^ the novel and the romance are 
made of, yet with the advantage of being actual fact. 
Incidents of this kind have proved as attractive to 
writers as to readers. They have dwelt upon them 
lovingly, embellished them with the charms of rhet- 
oric and occasionally with the inventions of fancy, 
until what began as fact has often entered far into 
the domains of legend and fiction. It may well be 

3 



4 PREFACE. 

that Bome of the narratives in the present work have 
gone through this process. If so, it is sitnply in- 
dicative of the interest they have awakened in gen- 
erations of readers and writers. But the bulk of 
them are fact, so far as history in general can be 
called fact, it having been our design to cull from 
the annals of the nations some of their more stir- 
ring and romantic incidents, and present them as a 
gallery of pictures that might serve to adorn the 
entrance to the temple of history, of which this 
work is offered as in some sense an illuminated 
ante-chamber. As such, it is hoped that some pil- 
grims from the world of readers may find it a 
pleasant halting-place on their way into the far- 
extending aisles of the great temple beyond. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB 

ViNELAND AND THE YlKINGS 9 

Frobisher and the Northwest Passage 26 

Champlain and the Iroquois 34 

Sir William Phips and the Silver-Ship 52 

The Sto.ry of the Kegicides 68 

How THE Charter was Saved 79 

How Franklin came to Philadelphia 89 

The Perils of the Wilderness 97 

Some Adventures of Major Putnam 110 

A Gallant Defence 127 

Daniel Boone, the Pioneer of Kentucky .... 137 

Paul Kevere's Kide 155 

The Green Mountain Boys 169 

The British at New York 177 

A Quakeress Patriot 186 

The Siege of Fort Schuyler 192 

On the Track of a Traitor 208 

Marion, the Swamp-Fox 220 

The Fate of the Philadelphia 233 

The Victim of a Traitor 245 

How the Electric Telegraph was Invented . . 255 

The Monitor and the Merrimac 270 

Stealing a Locomotive 279 

An Escape from Libby Prison 292 

The Sinking of the Albemarle 307 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



AMERICAN. 

PAGE 

Ethan Allen's Entrance, Ticonderoqa {Frontispiece). 

Lake Champlain and its Surroundings 41 

Pond Island, Mouth of the Kennebec 53 

The Cave of the Kegicides 75 

The Charter Oak, Hartford 84 

Washington's Home at Mount Yernon , . . . . 97 

Shore of Lake George 117 

The Old North Church, Boston 156 

The Old State House, Philadelphia 189 

The Benedict Arnold Mansion 217 

The Monitor and the Merrimac 275 

LiBBY Prison, Kichmond 293 



VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 

The year 1000 a.d. was one of strange history. 
Its advent threw the people of Europe into a state 
of mortal terror. Ten centuries had passed since 
the birth of Christ. The world was about to come 
to an end. Such was the general belief. How it 
was to reach its end, — whether by fire, water, or 
some other agent of ruin, — the prophets of disaster 
did not say, nor did people trouble themselves to 
learn. Destruction was coming upon them, that 
was enough to know; how to provide against it 
was the one thing to be considered. 

Some hastened to the churches; others to the 
taverns. Here prayers went up ; there wine went 
down. The petitions of the pious were matched by 
the ribaldry of the profligate. Some made their 
wills ; others wasted their wealth in revelry, eager 
to get all the pleasure out of life that remained for 
them. Many freely gave away their property, 
hoping, by ridding themselves of the goods of this 
earth, to establish a claim to the goods of Heaven, 
with little regard to the fate of those whom they 
loaded with their discarded wealth. 

It was an era of ignorance and superstition. 
Christendom went insane over an idea. When the 

9 



10 HISTORICAL TALES. 

year ended, and the world rolled on, none the worse 
for conflagration or deluge, green with the spring 
leafage and ripe with the works of man, dismay 
gave way to hope, mirth took the place of prayer, 
men regained their flown wits, and those who had 
so recklessly given away their wealth bethought 
themselves of taking legal measures for its recovery. 

Such was one of the events that made that year 
memorable. There was another of a highly different 
character. Instead of a world being lost, a world 
was found. The Old World not only remained un- 
harmed, but a New World was added to it, a world 
beyond the seas, for this was the year in which the 
foot of the European was first set upon the shores of 
the trans-Atlantic continent. It is the story of this 
first discovery of America that we have now to tell. 

In the autumn of the year 1000, in a region far 
away from fear-haunted Europe, a scene was beiag 
enacted of a very different character from that just 
described. Over the waters of unknown seas a 
small, strange craft boldly made its way, manned 
by a crew of the hardiest and most vigorous men, 
driven by a single square sail, whose coarse woollen 
texture bellied deeply before the fierce ocean winds, 
which seemed at times as if they would drive that 
deckless vessel bodily beneath tlie waves. 

This crew was of men to whom fear was almost un- 
known, the stalwart Yikings of the North, whose oar- 
and sail-driven barks now set out from the coasts of 
Norway and Denmark to ravage the shores of south- 
ern Europe, now turned their prows boldly to the 
west in search of unknown lands afar. 



VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 11 

Shall we describe this craft ? It was a tiny one 
in which to venture upon an untravelled ocean in 
search of an unknown continent, — a vessel shaped 
somewhat like a strung bow, scarcely fifty feet in 
length, low amidships and curving upwards to high 
peaks at stem and stern, both of which converged 
to sharp edges. It resembled an enormous canoe 
rather than aught else to which we can compare it. 
On the stem was a carved and gilt dragon, the figure- 
head of the ship, which glittered in the bright rays 
of the sun. Along the bulwarks of the ship, fore 
and aft, hung rows of large painted wooden shields, 
which gave an Argus-eyed aspect to the craft. Be- 
tween them was a double row of thole-pins for the 
great oars, which now lay at rest in the bottom of 
the boat, but by which, in calm weather, this " walker 
of the seas" could be forced swiftly through the 
yielding element. 

Near the stern, on an elevated platform, stood the 
commander, a man of large and powerful frame and 
imposing aspect, one whose commands not the fiercest 
of his crew would lightly venture to disobey. A 
coat of ring-mail encircled his stalwart frame; by 
his side, in a richly-embossed scabbard, hung a long 
sword, with hilt of gilded bronze ; on his head was 
a helmet that shone like pure gold, shaped like a 
wolf's head, with gaping jaws and threatening teeth. 
Land was in sight, an unknown coast, peopled per- 
haps by warlike men. The cautious Yiking leader 
deemed it wise to be prepared for danger, and was 
armed for possible combat. 

Below him, on the rowing-benches, sat his hardy 



12 HISTORICAL TALES. 

crew, their arms — spears, axes, bows, and slings — 
beside them, ready for any deed of daring they 
might be called upon to perform. Their dress con- 
sisted of trousers of coarse stuff, belted at the waist ; 
thick woollen shirts, blue, red, or brown in color; 
iron helmets, beneath which their long hair streamed 
down to their shoulders; and a shoulder belt de- 
scending to the waist and supporting their leather- 
covered sword-scabbards. Heavy whiskers and mous- 
taches added to the fierceness of their stern faces, 
and many of them wore as ornament on the forehead 
a band of gold. 

They numbered thirty-five in all, this crew who 
had set out to brave the terrors and solve the mys- 
teries of the great Atlantic. Their leader, Leif by 
name, was the son of Eirek the Red, the discoverer of 
Greenland, and a Yiking as fierce as ever breathed the 
air of the north land. Outlawed in Norway, where 
in hot blood he had killed more men than the law 
could condone, Eirek had made his way to Iceland. 
Here his fierce temper led him again to murder, and 
flight once more became necessary. Manning a 
ship, he set sail boldly to the west, and in the year 
982 reached a land on which the eye of European 
had never before gazed. To this he gave the name 
of Greenland, with the hope, perhaps, that this in- 
viting name would induce others to follow him. 

Such proved to be the case. Eirek returned to 
Iceland, told the story of his discovery, and in 985 
set sail again for his new realm with twenty-five 
ships and many colonists. Others came afterwards, 
among them one Biarni, a bold and enterprising 



VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 13 

youth, for whom a great adventure was reserved. 
Enveloped in fogs, and driven for days from its 
course by northeasterly winds, his vessel was forced 
far to the south. When at length the fog cleared 
away, the distressed mariners saw land before them, 
a low, level, thickly-wooded region, very different 
from the ice-covered realm they had been led to ex- 
pect. 

" Is this the land of which we are in search ?" asked 
the sailors. 

" IS'o," answered Biarni ; " for I am told that we 
may look for very large glaciers in Greenland." 

" At any rate, let us land and rest." 

" JN'ot so ; my father has gone with Eirek. I shall 
not rest till I see him again." 

And now the winds blew northward, and for seven 
days they scudded before a furious gale, passing on 
their way a mountainous, ice-covered island, and in 
the end, by great good fortune, Biarni' s vessel put 
into the very port where his father had fixed his abode. 

Biarni had seen, but had not set foot upon, the 
shores of the New World. That was left for bolder 
or more enterprising mariners to perform. About 
995 he went to Norway, where the story of his 
strange voyage caused great excitement among the 
adventure-loving people. Above all, it stirred up 
the soul of Leif, eldest son of Eirek the Eed, then 
in Norway, who in his soul resolved to visit and ex- 
plore that strange land which Biarni had only seen 
from afar. 

Leif returned to Greenland with more than this 
idea in his mind. When Eirek left Norway he had 

2 



14 HISTORICAL TALES. 

left a heathen land. When Leif visited it he found 
it a Christian country. Or at least he found there 
a Christian king, Olaf Tryggvason by name, who 
desired his guest to embrace the new faith. Leif 
consented without hesitation. Heathenism did not 
seem very firmly fixed in the minds of those north- 
ern barbarians. He and all his sailors were bap- 
tized, and betook themselves to Greenland with this 
new faith as their most precious freight. In this 
way Christianity first made its way across the seas. 
And thus it further came about that the ship which 
we have seen set sail for southern lands. 

This ship was that of Biarni. Leif had bought 
it, it may be with the fancy that it would prove for- 
tunate in retracing its course. JSTot only Leif, but 
his father Eirek, now an old man, was fired with 
the hope of new discoveries. The aged Viking had 
given Greenland to the world ; it was a natural am- 
bition to desire to add to his fame as a discoverer. 
But on his way to the vessel his horse stumbled. 
Superstitious, as all men were in that day, he looked 
on this as an evil omen. 

" I shall not go," he said. " It is not my destiny 
to discover any other lands than that on which we 
now live. I shall follow you no farther, but end 
my life in Greenland." And Eirek rode back to his 
home. 

IsTot so the adventurers. They boldly put out to 
sea, turned the prow of their craft southward, and 
battled with the waves day after day, their hearts 
full of hope, their eyes on the alert for the glint of 
distant lands. 



VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 15 

At length land was discovered, — a dreary country, 
mountainous, icy ; doubtless the inhospitable island 
which Biarni had described. They landed, but only 
to find themselves on a shore covered with bare, 
flat rocks, while before them loomed snow-covered 
heights. 

"This is not the land we seek," said Leif; "but 
we will not do as Biarni did, who never set foot on 
shore. I will give this land a name, and will call 
it Helluland," — a name which signifies the "land of 
broad stones." 

Onward they sailed again, their hearts now filled 
with ardent expectation. At length rose again the 
stirring cry of " Land !" or its Norse equivalent, and 
as the dragon-peaked craft glided swiftly onward 
there rose into view a long coast-line, flat and covered 
with white sand in the foreground, while a dense 
forest spread over the rising ground in the rear. 

" Markland [land of forest] let it be called," cried 
Leif. "This must be the land which Biarni first 
saw. We will not be like him, but will set foot on 
its promising shores." 

They landed, but tarried not long. Soon they 
took ship again, and sailed for two days out of sight 
of land. Then there came into view an island, with 
a broad channel between it and the mainland. Up 
this channel they laid their course, and soon came 
to where a river poured its clear waters into the sea. 
They decided to explore this stream. The boat was 
lowered and the ship towed up the river, until, at 
a short distance inland, it broadened into a lake. 
Here, at Leif 's command, the anchor was cast, and 



16 HISTORICAL TALES. 

their good ship, the pioneer in American discovery, 
came to rest within the inland waters of the New 
World. 

Not many minutes passed before the hardy mar- 
iners were on shore, and eagerly observing the con- 
ditions of their new-discovered realm. River and 
lake alike were full of salmon, the largest they had 
ever seen, a fact which agreeably settled the ques- 
tion of food. The climate seemed deliciously mild, as 
compared with the icy shores to which they were 
used. The grass was but little withered by frost, 
and promised a winter supply of food for cattle. 
Altogether they were so pleased with their surround- 
ings that Leif determined to spend the winter at 
that place, exploring the land so far as he could. 

For some time they dwelt under booths, passing 
the nights in their leather sleeping-bags ; but wood 
was abundant, axes and hands skilful to wield them 
were at hand, and they quickly went to work to 
build themselves habitations more suitable for the 
coming season of cold. 

No inhabitants of the land were seen. So far as 
yet appeared, it might be a region on which human 
foot had never before been set. But Leif was a 
cautious leader. He bade his men not to separate 
until the houses were finished. Then he divided 
them into two parties, left one to guard their homes 
and their ship, and sent the other inland to explore. 

" Beware, though," he said, " that you risk not too 
much. We know not what perils surround us. Go 
not so far inland but that you can get back by even- 
ing, and take care not to separate." 



VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 17 

Day after day these explorations continued, the 
men plunging into the forest that surrounded them 
and wandering far into its hidden recesses, each 
evening bringing back with them some story of the 
marvels of this new land, or some sample of its pro- 
ductions strange to their eyes. 

An evening came in which one of the explorers 
failed to return. He had either disobeyed the in- 
junctions of Leif, and gone too far to get back by 
evening, or some peril of that unknown land had 
befallen him. This man was of German birth, Tyr- 
ker by name, a southerner who had for years dwelt 
with Eirek and been made the foster-father of Leif, 
who had been fond of him since childhood. He was 
a little, wretched-looking fellow, with protruding 
forehead, unsteady eyes, and tiny face, yet a man 
skilled in all manner of handicraft. 

Leif, on learning of his absence, upbraided the 
men bitterly for losing him, and called on twelve of 
them to follow him in search. Into the forest they 
went, and before long had the good fortune to behold 
Tyrker returning. The little fellow, far from show- 
ing signs of disaster, was in the highest of spirits, 
his face radiant with joy. 

" How now, foster-father !" cried Leif. " Why are 
you so late ? and why have you parted from the 
others?" 

Tyrker was too excited to answer. He rolled his 
eyes wildly and made wry faces. When words came 
to him, he spoke in his native German, which none 
of them understood. Joy seemed to have driven all 
memory of the language of the north from his mind. 
I.— 6 2* 



18 HISTORICAL TALES. 

It was plain that no harm had come to him. On 
the contrary, he seemed to have stumbled upon some 
landfall of good luck. Yet some time passed before 
they could bring him out of his ecstasy into reason. 

" I did not go much farther than you," he at 
length called out, in their own tongue ; " and if I 
am late I have a good excuse. I can tell you news." 

" What are they ?" 

"I have made a grand discovery. See, I have 
found vines and grapes," and he showed them his 
hands filled with the pm-ple fruit. " I was born in 
a land where grapes grow in plenty. And this land 
bears them ! Behold what I bring you !" 

The memory of his childhood bad driven for the 
time all memory of the Norse language from his 
brain. G-rapes he had not seen for many years, and 
the sight of them made him a child again. The 
others beheld the prize with little less joy. They 
slept where they were that night, and in the morn- 
ing followed Tyrker to the scene of his discovery, 
where he gladly pointed to the arbor-like vines, laden 
thickly with wild grapes, a fruit delicious to their un- 
accustomed palates. 

" This is a glorious find," cried Leif. " We must 
take some of this splendid fruit north. There are two 
kinds of work now to be done. One day you sball 
gather grapes ; the next you shall cut timber to freight 
the ship. We must show our friends north what a 
country we have found. As for this land, I have a 
new name for it. Let it be called Yineland, the land 
of grapes and wine." 

After this discovery there is little of interest to 



VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 19 

record. The winter, which proved to be a very mild 
one, passed away, and in the spring they set sail 
again for Greenland, their ship laden deeply with 
timber, so useful a treasure in their treeless northern 
home, while the long-boat was filled to the gunwale 
with the grapes they had gathered and dried. 

Such is the story of the first discovery of Amer- 
ica, as told in the sagas of the North. Leif the 
Lucky was the name given the discoverer from that 
time forward. He made no more visits to Yineland, 
for duriDg the next winter his father died, and he 
became the governing head of the Greenland settle- 
ments. 

But the adventurous I^orthmen were not the men 
to rest at ease with an untrodden continent so near 
at hand. Thorvald, Leif 's brother, one of the bold- 
est of his race, determined to see for himself the 
wonders of Yineland. In the spring of 1002 he set 
sail with thirty companions, in the pioneer ship of 
American discovery, the same vessel which Biarni 
and Leif had made famous in that service. Un- 
luckily the records fail to give us the name of this 
notable ship. 

Steering southward, they reached in due time the 
lake on whose shores Leif and his crew had passed 
the winter. The buildings stood unharmed, and the 
new crew passed a winter here, most of their time 
being spent in catching and drying the delicious 
salmon which thronged river and lake. In the 
spring they set sail again, and explored the coast 
for a long distance to the south. How far they 
went we cannot tell, for all we know of their voyage 



20 HISTORICAL TALES. 

is that nearly everywhere they found white sandy 
shores and a background of unbroken forest. Like 
Leif, they saw no men. 

Back they came to Yineland, and there passed the 
winter again. Another spring came in the tender 
green of the young leafage, and again they put to 
sea. So far fortune had steadily befriended them. 
Now the reign of misfortune began. Not far had 
they gone before the vessel was di-iven ashore by a 
storm, and broke her keel on a protruding shoal. 
This was not a serious disaster. A new keel was 
made, and the old one planted upright in the sands 
of the coast. 

" "We will call this place Kial-ar-ness" [Keel Cape], 
said Thorvald. 

On they sailed again, and came to a country of 
such attractive aspect that Thorvald looked upon it 
with longing eyes. 

" This is a fine country, and here I should like to 
build myself a home," he said, little deeming in what 
gruesome manner his words were to be fulfilled. 

For now, for the first time in the story of these 
voyages, are we told of the natives of the land, — 
the Skroelings, as the Norsemen called them. Pass- 
ing the cape which Thorvald had chosen for his 
home, the mariners landed to explore the shore, and 
on their way back to the ship saw, on the white 
sands, three significant marks. They were like 
those made by a boat when driven ashore. Con- 
tinuing their observation, they quickly perceived, 
drawn well up on the shore, three skin-canoes turned 
keel upward. Dividing into three parties, they 



VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 21 

righted these boats, and to their surprise saw that 
under each three men lay concealed. 

The blood-loving instinct of the Norsemen was 
never at fault in a case like this. Drawing their 
swords, they assailed the hidden men, and of the 
nine only one escaped, the others being stretched in 
death upon the beach. 

The mariners had made a fatal mistake. To kill 
none, unless they could kill all, should have been 
their rule, a lesson in practical wisdom which they 
were soon to learn. But, heedless of danger and 
with the confidence of strength and courage, they 
threw themselves upon the sands, and, being weary 
and drowsy, were quickly lost in slumber. 

And now came a marvel. A voice, none knew 
whence or of whom, called loudly in their slumber- 
ing ears, — 

" Wake, Thorvald ! "VYake all your men, if you 
would save your life and theirs ! Haste to your ship 
and fly from land with all speed, for vengeance and 
death confront you." 

Suddenly aroused, they sprang to their feet, look- 
ing at each other with astounded eyes, and asking 
who had spoken those words. Little time for an- 
swer remained. The woods behind them suddenly 
seemed alive with fierce natives, who had been 
roused to vengeful fury by the flying fugitive, and 
now came on with hostile cries. The Norsemen 
sprang to their boats and rowed in all haste to the 
ship; but before they could make sail the surface 
of the bay swarmed with skin-boats, and showers 
of arrows were poured upon them. 



22 HISTORICAL TALES. 

The warlike mariners in turn assailed their foes 
with arrows, slings, and javelins, slaying so many 
of them that the remainder were quickly put to 
flight. But they fled not unrevenged. A keen- 
pointed arrow, flying between the ship's side and 
the edge of his shield, struck Thorvald in the arm- 
pit, wounding him so deeply that death threatened 
to follow the withdrawal of the fatal dart. 

" My day is come," said the dying chief " Return 
home to Greenland as quickly as you may. But as 
for me, you shall carry me to the place which I said 
would be so pleasant to dwell in. Doubtless truth 
came out of my mouth, for it may be that I shall 
live there for awhile. There you shall bury me and 
put crosses at my head and feet, and henceforward 
that place shall be called Krossanes" [Cross Cape]. 

The sorrowing sailors carried out the wishes of 
their dying chief, who lived but long enough to fix 
his eyes once more on the place which he had chosen 
for his home, and then closed them in the sleep of 
death. They buried him here, placing the crosses at 
his head and feet as he had bidden, and then set sail 
again for the booths of Leif at Vineland, where part 
of their company had been left to gather grapes in 
their absence. To these they told the story of what 
had happened, and agreed with them that the win- 
ter should be spent in that place, and that in the 
spring they should obey Thorvald's request and set 
sail for Greenland. This they did, taking on board 
their ship vines and an abundance of dried grapes. 
Ere the year was old their good ship again reached 
Eirecksfjord, where Leif was told of the death of his 



VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 23 

brother and of all that had happened to the voy- 
agers. 

The remaining story of the discoveries of the 
Northmen must be told in a few words. The next 
to set sail for that far-off land was Thorstein, the 
third son of Eirek the Eed. He failed to get there, 
however, but made land on the east coast of Green- 
land, where he died, while his wife Gudrid returned 
home. Much was this woman noted for her beauty, 
and as much for her wisdom and prudence, so the 
sagas tell us. 

In 1006 came to Greenland a noble Icelander, 
Thorfinn by name. That winter he married Gudrid, 
and so allied himself to the family of Eirek the Eed. 
And quickly he took up the business of discovery, 
which had been pursued so ardently by Eirek and 
his sons. He sailed in 1007, with three ships, for 
Yineland, where he remained three years, having 
man}^ adventures with the natives, now trading with 
them for furs, now fighting with them for life. In 
Yineland was born a son to Thorfinn and Gudrid, the 
first white child born in America. From him — 
Snorri Thorfinnson he was named — came a long line 
of illustrious descendants, many of whom made their 
mark in the history of Iceland and Denmark, the 
line ending in modern times in the famous Thorwald- 
sen, the greatest sculptor of the nineteenth century. 

The sagas thus picture for us the natives : " Swarthy 
they were in complexion, short and savage in as- 
pect, with ugly hair, great eyes, and broad cheeks." 
In a battle between the adventurers and these sav- 
ages the warlike blood of Eirek manifested itself in 



24 HISTORICAL TALES. 

a woman of his race. For Fi*eydis, his daughter, 
when pursued and likely to be captured by the natives, 
snatched up a sword which had been dropped by a 
slain Greenlander, and faced them so valiantly that 
they took to their heels in affright and fled precipi- 
tately to their canoes. 

One more story, and we are done. In the spring 
of 1010 Thorfinn sailed north with the two ships 
which he still had. One of them reached Greenland 
in safety. The other, commanded by Biarni Grim- 
olfson, was driven from its course, and, being worm- 
eaten, threatened to sink. 

There was but one boat, and this capable of hold- 
ing but half the ship's company. Lots were cast to 
decide who should go in the boat, and who stay on 
the sinking ship. Biarni was of those to whom for- 
tune proved kindly. But he was a man of noble 
strain, fit for deeds of heroic fortitude and self-sac- 
rifice. There was on board the ship a young Ice- 
lander, who had been put under Biarni's protection, 
and who lamented bitterly his approaching fate. 

" Come down into the boat," called out the noble- 
hearted Yiking. " I will take your place in the ship ; 
for I see that you are fond of life." 

So the devoted chieftain mounted again into the 
ship, and the youth, selfish with fear, took his place in 
the boat. The end was as they had foreseen. The 
boat reached land, where the men told their story. 
The worm-eaten ship must have gone down in the 
waves, for Biarni and his comrades were never heard 
of again. Thus perished one of the world's heroes. 

Little remains to be told, for all besides is fragment 



VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 25 

and conjecture. It is true that in the year 1011 
Freydis and her husband voyaged again to Yineland, 
though they made no new discoveries ; and it is prob- 
able that in the following centuries other journeys 
were made to the same land. But as time passed on 
Greenland grew colder ; its icy harvest descended 
farther and farther upon its shores ; in the end its 
colonies disappeared, and with them ended all inter- 
course with the grape-laden shores of Yineland. 

Just where lay this land of the vine no one to-day 
can tell. Some would place it as far north as Lab- 
rador; some seek to bring it even south of New 
England ; the Eunic records simply tell us of a land 
of capes, islands, rivers, and vines. It is to the lat- 
ter, and to the story of far-reaching forest-land, and 
pasturage lasting the winter through, that we owe 
the general belief that the Yikings reached New 
England's fertile shores, and that the ship of Biarni 
and Leif, with its war-loving crews, preceded by six 
centuries the Mayflower, with its peaceful and pious 
souls. 



FRO BIS HER AND THE NORTH- 
WEST PASSAGE. 

Hardly had it been learned that Columbus was 
mistaken in his belief, and that the shores he bad 
discovered were not those of India and Cathay, 
when vigorous efforts began to find some easy route 
to the rich lands of the Orient. Balboa, in 1513, 
crossed the continent at its narrow neck, and gazed, 
with astounded eyes, upon the mighty ocean that 
lay beyond, — the world's greatest sea. Magellan, in 
1520, sailed round the continent at its southern ex- 
tremity, and turned his daring prows into that world 
of waters of seemingly illimitable width. But the 
route thus laid out was far too long for the feeble 
commerce of that early day, and various efforts were 
made to pass the line of the continent at some north- 
ern point. The great rivers of North America, the 
James, the Hudson, and others, were explored in 
the eager hope that they might prove to be liquid 
canals between the two great seas. But a more 
promising hope was that which hinted that America 
might be circumnavigated at the north as well as at 
the south, and the Pacific be reached by way of the 
icy channel of the northern seas. 

This hope, born so long ago, has but died out in 
26 



FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE. 27 

our own days. Much of the most thrilling literature 
of adventure of the nineteenth century conies from 
the persistent efforts to traverse these perilous Arctic 
ocean wastes. Let us go back to the oldest of the 
daring navigators of this frozen sea, the worthy 
knight Sir Martin Frobisher, and tell the story of 
his notable efforts to discover a Northwest Passage, 
" the only thing left undone," as he quaintly says, 
<* whereby a notable mind might become famous and 
fortunate." 

As an interesting preface to our story we may 
quote from that curious old tome, "Purchas his 
Pilgrimage," the following quaintly imaginative pas- 
sage,— 

" How shall I admire your valor and courage, yee 
Marine AYorthies, beyond all names of worthinesse ; 
that neither dread so long either presense nor ab- 
sence of the Sunne, nor those foggie mists, tempest- 
uous windes, cold blasts, snowes and haile in the 
aire ; nor the unequal Seas, where the Tritons and 
Neptune's selfe would quake with chilling feare to 
behold such monstrous Icie Islands, mustering them- 
selves in those watery plaines, where they hold a 
continuall civill warre, rushing one upon another, 
making windes and waves give back ; nor the rigid, 
ragged face of the broken landes, sometimes tower- 
ing themselves to a loftie height, to see if they can 
finde refuge from those snowes and colds that con- 
tinually beat them, sometimes hiding themselves 
under some hollow hills or cliffes, sometimes sink- 
ing and shrinking into valleys, looking pale with 
snowes, and falling in frozen and dead swounes; 



28 HISTORICAL TALES. 

sometimes breaking their neckes into the sea, rather 
embracing the waters' than the aires' crueltie," and 
so on with the like labored fancies. *' Great God," 
he concludes, "to whom all names of greatnesse are 
little, and lesse than nothing, let me in silence ad- 
mire thy greatnesse, that in this little heart of man 
(not able to serve a Kite for a break-fast) hast placed 
such greatness of spirit as the world is too little to 
fill." 

Thus in long-winded meed of praise writes Master 
Samuel Purchas. Of those bold mariners of whom 
he speaks our worthy knight. Sir Martin, is one of 
the first and far from the least. 

An effort had been made to discover a northwest 
passage to the Pacific as early as 1527, and another 
nine years later ; but these were feeble attempts, 
which ended in failure and disaster, and discovered 
nothing worthy of record. It was in 1576 that 
Frobisher, one of the most renowned navigators of 
his day, put into effect the project he had cherished 
from his youth upward, and for which he had sought 
aid during fifteen weary years, that of endeavoring 
to solve the ice- locked secret of the Arctic seas. 

The fleet with which this daring adventure was 
undertaken was a strangely insignificant one, con- 
sisting of three vessels which were even less in size 
than those with which Columbus had ventured on 
his great voyage. Two of these were but of twenty 
tons burden each, and the third only of ten, while 
the aggregate crews numbered but thirty-five men. 
With this tiny squadron, less in size than a trio of 
fishing-smacks, the daring adventurer set out to 



FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE. 29 

traverse the northern seas and face the waves of the 
great Pacific, if fortune should open to him its gates. 

On the 11th of July, 1576, the southern extremity 
of Greenland was sighted. It presented a more icy 
aspect than that which the Norsemen had seen 
nearly six centuries before. Sailing thence westward, 
the land of the continent came into view, and for 
the first time by modern Europeans was seen that 
strange race, now so well known under the name of 
Eskimo. The characteristics of this people, and the 
conditions of then' life, are plainly described. The 
captain " went on shore, and was encountered with 
mightie Deere, which ranne at him, with danger of 
his life. Here he had sight of the Savages, which 
rowed to his Shippe in Boates of Scales Skinnes, 
with a Keele of wood within them. They eate raw 
Flesh and Fish, or rather devoured the same : they 
had long black hayre, broad faces, flat noses, tawnie 
of color, or like an Olive." 

His first voyage went not beyond this point. He 
returned home, having lost five of his men, who 
were carried off by the natives. But he brought 
with him that which was sure to pave the way to 
future voyages. This was a piece of glittering stone, 
which the ignorant goldsmiths of London confidently 
declared to be ore of gold. 

Frobisher's first voyage had been delayed by the 
great difficulty in obtaining aid. For his new pro- 
ject assistance was freely offered, Queen Elizabeth 
herself, moved by hope of treasure, coming to his help 
with a hundred and eighty ton craft, the " Ayde," 
to which two smaller vessels were added. These 

3* 



30 HISTORICAL TALES. 

being provisioned and manned, the bold navigator, 
with " a merrie wind" in his sails, set out again for 
the desolate north. 

His first discovery here was of the strait now 
known by his name, up which he passed in a boat, 
with the mistaken notion in his mind that the land 
bounding the strait to the south was America, and 
that to the north was Asia. The natives proved 
friendly, but Frobisher soon succeeded in making 
them hostile. He seized some of them and attempted 
to drag them to his boat, " that he might conciliate 
them by presents." The Eskimos, however, did not 
approve of this forcible method of conciliation, and 
the unwise knight reached the boat alone, with an 
arrow in his leg. 

But, to their great joy, the mariners found plenty 
of the shining yellow stones, and stowed abundance 
of them on their ships, deeming, like certain Vir- 
ginian gold-seekers of a later date, that their for- 
tunes were now surely made. They found also " a 
great dead fish, round like a porcpis [porpoise], 
twelve feet long, having a Home of two yardes, 
lacking two ynches, growing out of the Snout, 
wreathed and straight, like a Waxe -Taper, and might 
be thought to be a Sea-Unicorne. It was reserved 
as a Jewell by the Queen's commandment in her 
"Wardrobe of Eobes." 

A northwest wind having cleared the strait of ice, 
the navigators sailed gayly forward, full of the be- 
lief that the Pacific would soon open to their eyes. 
It was not long before they were in battle with the 
Eskimos. They had found European articles in some 



FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE. 31 

native kyacks, which they supposed belonged to the 
men they bad lost the year before. To rescue or 
revenge these unfortunates, Frobisher attacked the 
natives, who valiantly resisted, even plucking the 
arrows from their bodies to use as missiles, and, when 
mortally hurt, flinging themselves from the rocks 
into the sea. At length they gave ground, and fled 
to the loftier cliffs, leaving two of their women as 
trophies to the assailants. These two, one " being 
olde," says the record, "the other encombred with a 
yong childe, we took. The olde wretch, whom divers 
of our Saylors supposed to be eyther the Divell, or a 
witch, had her buskins plucked off, to see if she were 
cloven-footed ; and for her ougly hewe and deformitie, 
we let her goe ; the young woman and the childe we 
brought away." 

This was not the last of their encounters with the 
Eskimos, who, incensed against them, made every 
effort to entrap them into their power. Their strata- 
gems consisted in placing tempting pieces of meat at 
points near which they lay in ambush, and in pre- 
tending lameness to decoy the Englishmen into pur- 
suit. These schemes failing, they made a furious as- 
sault upon the vessel with arrows and other missiles. 

Before the strait could be fully traversed, ice had 
formed so thickly that further progress was stopped, 
and, leaving the hoped-for Cathay for future voyagers, 
the mariners turned their prows homeward' their 
vessels laden with two hundred tons of the glitter- 
ing stone. 

Strangely enough, an examination of this material 
failed to dispel the delusion. The scientists of that 



32 HISTORICAL TALES. 

day declared that it was genuine gold-ore, and ex- 
pressed their belief that the road to China lay 
through Frobisher Strait. Untold wealth, far sur- 
passing that which the Spaniards had obtained in 
Mexico and Peru, seemed ready to shower into Eng- 
land's coffers. Frobisher was now given the proud 
honor of kissing the queen's hand, his neck was 
encircled with a chain of gold of more value than 
his entire two hundred tons of ore, and, with a fleet 
of fifteen ships, one of them of four hundred tons, 
he set sail again for the land of golden promise. Of 
the things that happened to him in this voyage, one 
of the most curious is thus related. " The Sala- 
mander (one of their Shippes), being under both her 
Courses and Bonets, happened to strike upon a great 
Whale, with her full Stemme, with suche a blow that 
the Shippe stood still, and neither stirred backward 
or forward. The whale thereat made a great and 
hideous noyse, and casting up his body and tayle, 
presently sank under water. Within two days they 
found a whale dead, which they supposed was this 
which the Salamander had stricken." 

Other peril came to the fleet from icebergs, through 
the midst of which they were driven by a tempest, 
but they finally made their way into what is now 
known as Hudson Strait, up which, filled with hope 
that the continental limits would quickly be passed 
and the route to China open before them, they sailed 
some sixty miles. But to their disappointment they 
found that they were being turned southward, and, 
instead of crossing the continent, were descending 
into its heart. 



FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE. 33 

Reluctantly Frobisher turned back, and, after many 
buffetings from the storms, managed to bring part 
of his fleet into Frobisher Bay. So much time had 
been lost that it was not safe to proceed. Winter 
might surprise them in those icy wilds. Therefore, 
shipping immense quantities of the " fools' gold" 
which had led them so sadly astray, they turned 
their prows once more homeward, reaching Eng- 
land's shores in early October. 

Meanwhile the " ore " had been found to be abso- 
lutely worthless, the golden dreams which had roused 
England to exultation had faded away, and the new 
ship-loads they brought were esteemed to be hardly 
worth their weight as ballast. For this disappoint- 
ment the unlucky Frobisher, who had been appointed 
High Admiral of all lands and waters which he 
might discover, could not be held to blame. It was 
not he that had pronounced the worthless pyrites 
gold, and he had but obeyed orders in bringing new 
cargoes of this useless rubbish to add to the weight 
of Albion's rock-bound shores. But he could not ob- 
tain aid for a new voyage to the icy north, England 
for the time had lost all interest in that unpromising 
region, and Frobisher was forced to employ in other 
directions his skill in seamanship. 

With the after-career of this unsuccessful searcher 
for the Northwest Passage we have no concern. It 
will suffice to say that fortune attended his later ven- 
tures upon the seas, and that he died in 1594, from 
a wound which he received in a naval battle off the 
coast of France. 
I. — c 



CHAM PLAIN AND THE IRO- 
QUOIS. 

On a bright May morning in the year 1609, at the 
point where the stream then known as the Biviere 
des Iroquois — and whicli has since borne the various 
names of the Richelieu, the Chambly, the St. Louis, 
the Sorel and the St. John — poured the waters of an 
unknown interior lake into the channel of the broad 
St. Lawrence, there was presented a striking specta- 
cle. Everywhere on the liquid surface canoes, driven 
by the steady sweep of paddles wielded by naked 
and dusky arms, shot to and fro. Near the shore a 
small shallop, on whose deck stood a groujD of armed 
whites, had just cast anchor, and was furling its sails. 
Upon the strip of open land bordering the river, and 
in the woodland beyond, were visible great numbers 
of savage warriors, their faces hideously bedaubed 
with war-paint, their hands busy in erecting the 
frail habitations of a temporary camp. 

The scene was one of striking beauty, such as only 
the virgin wilderness can display. The river ran be- 
tween walls of fresh green leafage, here narrowed, 
yonder widened into a broad reach which was encir- 
cled by far sweeping forests. The sun shone broadly 
on the animated scene, while the whites, from the deck 
34 



CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 35 

of their small craft, gazed with deep interest on the 
strange picture before them, filled as it was with 
dusky natives, some erecting their forest shelters, 
others fishing in the stream, while still others were 
seeking the forest depths in pursuit of game. 

The scene is of interest to us for another reason. It 
was the prelude to the first scene of Indian warfare 
which the eyes of Europeans were to behold in the 
northern region of the American continent. The 
Spaniards had been long established in the south, but 
no English settlement had yet been made on the 
shores of the New World, and the French had but 
recently built a group of wooden edifices on that 
precipitous height which is now crowned with the 
walls and the spires of Quebec. 

Not long had the whites been there before the native 
hunters of the forests came to gaze with wondering 
eyes on those pale-faced strangers, with their unusual 
attire and surprising powers of architecture. And 
quickly they begged their aid in an expedition against 
their powerful enemies, the confederated nations of 
the Iroquois, who dwelt in a wonderful lake-region 
to the south, and by their strength, skill, and valor 
had made themselves the terror of the tribes. 

Samuel de Champlain, an adventurous French- 
man who had already won himself reputation by an 
exploration of the Spanish domain of the West 
Indies, was now in authority at Quebec, and did not 
hesitate to promise his aid in the coming foray, 
moved, perhaps, by that thirst for discovery and 
warlike spirit which burned deeply in his breast. 
The Indians had told him of great lakes and mighty 



36 HISTORICAL TALES. 

rivers to the south, and doubtless the ardent wish to 
be the first to traverse these unknown waters was a 
moving impulse in his ready assent. 

With the opening season the warriors gathered, 
Hurons and Algonquins, a numerous band. They 
paddled to Quebec ; gazed with surprise on the 
strange buildings, the story of which had already 
been told in their distant wigwams, and on their 
no less strange inmates; feasted, smoked, and de- 
bated ; and shrank in consternation from the piercing 
report of the arquebuse and the cannon's frightful 
roar. 

Their savage hearts were filled with exultation on 
learning the powers of their new aUies. Surely 
these wonderful strangers would deal destruction on 
their terrible foes. Burning with thirst for ven- 
geance, they made their faces frightful with the war- 
paint, danced with frenzied gestures round the blaze 
of their camp-fires, filled the air with ear-piercing 
war-whoops, and at the word of command hastened 
to their canoes and swept in hasty phalanx up the 
mighty stream, accompanied by Champlain and 
eleven other white allies. 

Two days the war-party remained encamped at 
the place where we have seen them, hunting, fishing, 
feasting, and quarrelling, the latter so eifectually 
that numbers of them took to their canoes and 
paddled angrily away, scarce a fourth of the original 
array being left for the march upon the dreaded 
enemy. 

It was no easy task which now lay before them. 
The journey was long, the way difficult. Onward 



CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 37 

again swept the dimiDutive squadron, the shallop 
outsailing the canoes, and making its way up the 
Eichelieu, Champlain being too ardent with the 
fever of discovery to await the slow work of the 
paddles. He had not, however, sailed far up that 
forest-enclosed stream before unwelcome sounds 
came to his ears. The roar of rushing and tumbling 
waters sounded through the still air. And now, 
through the screen of leaves, came a vision of snowy 
foam and the flash of leaping waves. The Indians 
had lied to him. They had promised him an un- 
obstructed route to the great lake ahead, and here 
already were rapids in his path. 

How far did the obstruction extend ? That must 
be learned. Leaving the shallop, he set out with 
part of his men to explore the wilds. It was no easy 
journey. Tangled vines, dense thickets, swampy 
recesses crossed the way. Here lay half-decayed 
tree-trunks ; there heaps of rocks lifted their mossy 
tops in the path. And ever, as they went, the roar 
of the rapids followed, while through the foliage 
could be seen the hurrying waters, pouring over 
rocks, stealing amid drift-logs, eddying in chasms, 
and shooting in white lines of foam along every 
open space. 

Was this the open river of which he had been 
told ; this the ready route to the great lake beyond ? 
In anger and dismay, Champlain retraced his steps, 
to find, when he reached the shallop, that the canoes 
of the savages had come up, and now filled the 
stream around it. 

The disappointed adventurer did not hesitate to 

4 



38 HISTORICAL TALES. 

tell them that they had lied to him ; hut he went oa 
to say that though they had broken their word he 
would keep his. In truth, the vision of the mighty 
lake, with its chain of islands, its fertile shores, and 
bordering forests, of which they had told him, rose 
alluringly before his eyes, and with all the ardor of 
the pioneer he was determined to push onward into 
that realm of the unknown. 

But their plans must be changed. Nine of the 
men were sent back to Quebec with the shallop. 
Champlain, with two others, determined to proceed 
in the Indian canoes. At his command the warriors 
lifted their light boats from the water, and bore 
them on their shoulders over the diflScult portage 
past the rapids, to the smooth stream above. Here, 
launching them again, the paddles once more broke 
the placid surface of the stream, and onward they 
went, still through the primeval forest, which 
stretched away in an unbroken expanse of green. 

It was a virgin solitude, unmarked by habitation, 
destitute of human inmate, abundant with game; 
for it was the debatable land between warring 
tribes, traversed only by hostile bands, the battle- 
ground of Iroquois and Algonquin hordes. None 
could dwell here in safety; even hunting-parties 
had to be constantly prepared for war. Through 
this region of blood and terror the canoes made 
their way, now reduced to twenty-four in number, 
manned by sixty warriors and three white allies. 
The advance was made with great caution, for 
danger was in the air. Scouts were sent in advance 
through the forests ; others were thrown out on the 



CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 39 

flanks and rear, hunting for game as they went ; for 
the store of pounded and parched maize which the 
warriors had brought with them was to be kept for 
food when the vicinity of the foe should render hunt- 
ing impossible. 

The scene that night, as described by Champlain, 
was one to be remembered. The canoes were drawn 
up closely, side by side. Active life pervaded the 
chosen camp. Here some gathered dry wood for 
their fires ; there others stripped off sheets of bark, 
to cover their forest wigwams ; yonder the sound 
of axes was followed by the roar of falling trees. 
The savages had steel axes, obtained from the 
French, and, with their aid, in two hours a strong 
defensive work, constructed of the felled trunks, 
was built, a half-circle in form, with the river at its 
two ends. This was the extent of their precautions. 
The returning scouts reported that the forest in 
advance was empty of foes. The tawny host cast 
themselves in full security on the grassy soil, setting 
no guards, and were soon lost in slumber, with that 
blind trust in fortune which has ever been one of 
the weak features of Indian warfare. 

They had not failed, however, to consult their 
oracles, those spirits which the medicine-man was 
looked upon as an adept at invoking, and whose 
counsel was ever diligently sought by the supersti- 
tious natives. The conjurer crept within his skin- 
covered lodge, where, crouched upon the earth, he 
filled the air with inarticulate invocations to the 
surrounding spirits ; while outside, squatted on the 
ground, the dusky auditors looked and listened with 



40 HISTORICAL TALES. 

awe. Suddenly the lodge began to rock violently, 
b}' the power of the spirits, as the Indians deemed, 
though Champlain fancied that the arm of the medi- 
cine-man was the only spirit at work. 

"Look on the peak of the lodge," whispered the 
awed savages. " You will see fire and smoke rise 
into the air." Champlain looked, but saw nothing. 

The medicine-man by this time had worked him- 
self into convulsions. He called loudly upon the 
spirit in an unknown language, and was answered 
in squeaking tones like those of a young puppy. 
This powerful spirit was deemed to be present in 
the form of a stone. When the conjurer reappeared 
his body streamed with perspiration, while the story 
he had to tell promised an auspicious termination of 
the enterprise. 

This was not the only performance of the war- 
riors. There was another of a more rational char- 
acter. Bundles of sticks were collected by the lend- 
ing chief, which he stuck in the earth in a fixed 
order, calling each by the name of some warrior, the 
taller ones representing the chiefs. The arrange- 
ment of the sticks indicated the plan of battle. 
Each warrior was to occupy the position indicated 
by his special stick. The savages gathered closely 
round, intently studied the plan, then formed their 
ranks in accordance therewith, broke them, reformed 
them, and continued the process with a skill and 
alacrity that surprised and pleased their civilized 
observer. 

With the early morning light they again advanced, 
following the ever-widening stream, in whose midst 



CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 41 

islands leagues in extent now appeared. Beyond 
came broad channels and extended reaches of widen- 
ing waters, and soon the delighted explorer found 
that the river had ended and that the canoes were 
moving over the broad bosom of that great lake of 
which the Indians had told him, and which has ever 
since borne his name. It was a charming scene 
which thus first met the eyes of civilized man. Far 
in front spread the inland sea. On either side dis- 
tant forests, clad in the fresh leafage of June, marked 
the borders of the lake. Far away, over their leafy 
tops, appeared lofty heights ; on the left the Green 
Mountains lifted their forest-clad ridges, with patches 
of snow still whitening their tops ; on the right rose 
the clustering hills of the Adirondacks, then the 
hunting-grounds of the Iroquois, and destined to 
remain the game-preserves of the whites long after 
the axe and plough had subdued all the remainder 
of that forest-clad domain. 

They had reached a region destined to play a 
prominent part in the coming history of America. 
The savages told their interested auditors of another 
lake, thickly studded with islands, beyond that on 
which they now were ; and still beyond a rocky port- 
age over which they hoped to carry their canoes, 
and a great river which flowed far down to the 
mighty waters of the sea. If they met not the foe 
sooner they would press onward to this stream, and 
there perhaps surprise some town of the Mohawks, 
whose settlements approached its banks. This same 
liquid route in later days was to be traversed by 
warlike hosts both in the French and Indian and the 

4* 



42 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Bevolutionary Wars, and to be signalized by the cap- 
ture of Burgoyne and his invading host, one of the 
most vital events in the American struggle for liberty. 
The present expedition was not to go so far. Hos- 
tile bands were to be met before they left the sheet 
of water over which their canoes now glided. On- 
ward they went, the route becoming hourly more 
dangerous. At length they changed their mode of 
progress, resting in the depths of the forest all day 
long, taking to the waters at twilight, and paddling 
cautiously onward till the crimsoning of the eastern 
sky told them that day was near at hand. Then the 
canoes were drawn up in sheltered coves, and the war- 
riors, chatting, smoking, and sleeping, spent on the 
leafy lake borders the slow-moving hours of the day. 

The journey was a long one. It was the 29th of 
July when they reached a point far down the lake, 
near the present site of Crown Point. They had 
paddled all night. They hid here all day. Cham- 
plain fell asleep on a heap of spruce boughs, and in 
his slumber dreamed that he had seen the Iroquois 
drowning in the lake, and that when he tried to 
rescue them he had been told by his Algonquin 
friends to leave them alone, as they were not worth 
the trouble of saving. 

The Indians believed in the power of dreams. 
They had beset Champlain daily to learn if he had 
had any visions. When now he told them his dream 
they were filled with joy. Yictory had spoken into 
his slumbering ear. With gladness they re-embarked 
when night came on, and continued their course down 
the lake. 



CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 43 

They had not far to go. At ten o'clock, through 
the shadows of the night, they beheld a number of 
dark objects on the lake before them. It was a fleet 
of Iroquois canoes, heavier and slower craft than 
those of the Algonquins, for they were made of 
oak- or elm-bark, instead of the light paper-birch 
used by the latter. 

Each party saw the other, and recognized that they 
were in the presence of foes. War-cries sounded 
over the shadowy waters. The Iroquois, who pre- 
ferred to do their fighting on land and who were 
nearer shore, hastened to the beach and began at 
once to build a barricade of logs, filling the air of 
the night with yells of defiance as they worked 
away like beavers. The allies meanwhile remained 
on the lake, their canoes lashed together with poles, 
dancing with a vigor that imperilled their frail 
barks, and answering the taunts and menaces of 
their foes with equally vociferous abuse. 

It was agreed that the battle should be deferred 
till daybreak. As day approached Champlain and 
his two followers armed themselves, their armor 
consisting of cuirass, or breast-plate, steel coverings 
for the thighs, and a plumed helmet for the head. 
By the side of the leader hung his sword, and in his 
hand was his arquebuse, which he had loaded with 
four balls. The savages of these woods were now 
first to learn the destructive power of that weapon, 
for which in the years to come they would them 
selves discard the antiquated bow. 

The Iroquois much outnumbered their foes. There 
were some two hundred of them in all, tall, powerful 



44 HISTORICAL TALES. 

men, the boldest warriors of America, whose steady 
march excited Champlain's admiration as he saw 
them filing from their barricade and advancing 
through the woods. As for himself and his two 
companions, they had remained concealed in the 
canoes, and not even when a landing was made did 
the Iroquois behold the strangely-clad allies of their 
hereditary enemies. 

Not until they stood face to face, ready for the 
battle-cry, did the Algonquin ranks open, and the 
white men advance before the astonished gaze of the 
Iroquois. Never before had they set eyes on such an 
apparition, and they stood in mute wonder while 
Champlain raised his arquebuse, took aim at a chief, 
and fired. The chief fell dead. A warrior by his 
side fell wounded in the bushes. As the report rang 
through the air a frightful yell came from the allies, 
and in an instant their arrows were whizzing thickly 
through the ranks of their foes. For a moment the 
Iroquois stood their ground and returned arrow for 
arrow. But when from the two flanks of their ad- 
versaries came new reports, and other warriors bit 
the dust, their courage gave way to panic terror, 
and they turned and fled in wild haste through the 
forest, swiftly pursued by the triumphant Algonquins. 

Several of the Iroquois were killed. A number 
were captured. At night the victors camped in tri- 
umph on the field of battle, torturing one of their 
captives till Champlain begged to put him out of pain, 
and sent a bullet through his heart. 

Thus ended the first battle between whites and 
Indians on the soil of the northern United States, 



CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 45 

in a victory for which the French were to pay dearly 
in future days, at the hands of their now vanquished 
foes. With the dawn of the next day the victors 
began their retreat. A few days of rapid paddling 
brought them to the Eichelieu. Here they separated, 
the Hurons and Algonquins returning to their homes 
by way of the Ottowa, the Montagnais, who dwelt in 
the vicinity of Quebec, accompanying Champlain to 
his new-built city. 

The Iroquois, however, were not the men to be 
quelled by a single defeat. In June of the ensuing 
year a war-party of them advanced to the mouth of 
the RicheHeu, and a second fierce battle took place. 
As another vivid example of the character of Indian 
warfare, the story of this conflict may be added to 
that already given. 

On an island in the St. Lawrence near the mouth 
of the Richelieu was gathered a horde of Montagnais 
Indians, Champlain and others of the whites being 
with them. A war-party of Algonquins was ex- 
pected, and busy preparations were being made for 
feast and dance, in order that they might be received 
with due honor. In the midst of this festal activity 
an event occurred that suddenly changed thoughts 
of peace to those of war. At a distance on the 
stream appeared a single canoe, approaching as rap- 
idly as strong arms could drive it through the water. 
On coming near, its inmates called out loudly that 
the Algonquins were in the forest, engaged in battle 
with a hundred Iroquois, who, outnumbered, were 
fighting from behind a barricade of trees which they 
had hastily erected. 



46 HISTORICAL TALES. 

In an instant the air was filled with deafening 
cries. Tidings of battle were to the Indians like a 
fresh scent to hounds of the chase. The Montascnais 
flew to their canoes, and paddled with frantic haste 
to the opposite shore, loudly calling on Champlain 
and his fellow-whites to follow. They obeyed, cross- 
ing the stream in canoes. As the shore was reached 
the warriors flung down their paddles, snatched up 
their weapons, and darted into the woods with such 
speed that the Frenchmen found it impossible to keep 
them in sight. It was a hot and oppressive day ; 
the air was filled with mosquitoes, — " so thick," says 
Champlain, " that we could hardly draw breath, and 
it was wonderful how cruelly they persecuted us," — 
their route lay through swampy soil, where the water 
at places stood knee-deep ; over fallen logs, wet and 
slimy, and under entangling vines ; their heavy ar- 
mor added to their discomfort ; the air was close and 
heavy ; altogether it was a progress fit to make one 
sicken of warfare in the wilderness. After struggling 
onward till they were almost in despair, they saw 
two Indians in the distance, and by vigorous shouts 
secured their aid as guides to the field of battle. 

An instinct seemed to guide the savages through 
that dense and tangled forest. In a short time they 
led the laboring whites to a point where the wood- 
land grew thinner, and within hearing of the wild 
war-whoops of the combatants. Soon they emerged 
into a partial clearing, which had been made by the 
axes of the Iroquois in preparing their breastwork 
of defence. Champlain gazed upon the scene before 
him with wondering eyes. In front was a circular 



CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 47 

barricade, composed of trunks of trees, boughs, and 
matted twigs, behind which the Iroquois stood like 
tigers at bay. In the edge of the forest around were 
clustered their yelling fo«s, screaming shrill defiance, 
yet afraid to attack, for they had ah-eady been 
driven back with severe loss. Their hope now lay 
in their white allies, and when they saw Champlain 
and his men a yell arose that rent the air, and a 
cloud of winged arrows was poured into the wood- 
land fort. The beleaguered Iroquois replied with as 
fierce a shout, and with a better-aimed shower of 
arrows. At least Champlain had reason to think so, 
for one of these stone-headed darts split his ear, and 
tore a furrow through the muscles of his neck. One 
of his men received a similar wound. 

Furious with pain, Champlain, secure in his steel 
armor, rushed to the woodland fort, followed by his 
men, and discharged their arquebuses through its 
crevices upon the dismayed savages within, who, 
wild with terror at this new and deadly weapon, 
flung themselves flat upon the earth at each report. 

At each moment the scene of war grew more ani- 
mated. The assailing Indians, yelling in triumph, 
ran up under cover of their large wooden shields, 
and began to tug at the trees of the barricade, while 
others of them gathered thickly in the bushes for 
the final onset. And now, from the forest depths, 
came hurrying to the scene a new party of French 
allies, — a boat's crew of fur-traders, who had heard 
the firing and flown with warlike eagerness to take 
part in the fight. 

The bullets of these new assailants added to the 



48 HISTORICAL TALES. 

terror of the Iroquois. They writhed and darted 
to and fro to escape the leaden missiles that tore 
through their frail barricade. At a signal from 
Champlain the allies rushed from their leafy covert, 
flew to the breastwork, tore down or clambered over 
the boughs, and precipitated themselves into the 
fort, while the French ceased their firing and led a 
party of Indians to the assault on the opposite side. 

The howls of defiance, screams of pain, deafening 
war-whoops, and dull sound of deadly blows were 
now redoubled. Many of the Iroquois stood their 
ground, hewing with tomahawks and war-clubs, and 
dying not unrevenged. Some leaped the barrier, 
and were killed b}^ the crowd outside ; others sprang 
into the river and were drowned ; of them all not 
one escaped, and at the end of the conflict but fifteen 
remained alive, prisoners in the hands of their deadly 
foes, destined victims of torture and flame. 

On the next day a large party of Hurons arrived, 
and heard with envy the story of the fight, in which 
they were too late to take part. The forest and 
river shore was crowded with Indian huts. Hun- 
dreds of warriors assembled, who spent the day in 
wild war-dances and songs, then loaded their canoes 
and paddled away in triumph to their homes, with- 
out a thought of following up their success and 
striking yet heavier blows upon their dreaded enemy. 
Even Champlain, who was versed in civilized war- 
fare, made no attempt to lead them to an invasion 
of the Iroquois realm. He did not dream of the 
deadly reprisal which the now defeated race would 
exact for this day of disaster. 



CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 49 

Of the further doings of Champlain we shall re- 
late but one incident, — a thrilling adventure which 
he tells of his being lost in the interminable wood- 
land depths. Year after year he continued his ex- 
plorations ; now voyaging far up the Ottawa ; now 
reaching the mighty inland sea of Lake Huron, 
voyaging upon its waters, and visiting the Indian 
villages upon its shores ; now again battling with the 
Iroquois, who, this time, drove their assailants in 
bafSed confusion from their fort ; now joining an 
Indian hunting-party, and taking part with them in 
their annual deer-hunt. For this they constructed 
two lines of posts interlaced with boughs, each more 
than half a mile long, and converging to a point 
where a strong enclosure was built. The hunters 
drove the deer before them into this enclosure, where 
others despatched them with spears and arrows. 
It was during this expedition that the incident re- 
ferred to took place. 

Champlain had gone into the forest with the hunt- 
ers. Here he saw a bird new to him, and whose 
brilliant hue and strange shape struck him with sur- 
prise and admiration. It was, to judge from his 
description, a redheaded woodpecker. Bent on pos- 
sessing this winged marvel, he pursued it, gun in 
hand. From bough to bough, from tree to tree, the 
bird flitted onward, leading the unthinking hunter 
step by step deeper into the wilderness. Then, when 
he surely thought to capture his prize, the luring 
wonder took wing and vanished in the forest depths. 

Disappointed, Champlain turned to seek his friends. 
But in what direction should he go ? The day was 
I. — c d 6 



50 HISTORICAL TALES. 

cloudy ; he had left his pocket-compass at the camp ; 
the forest spread in endless lines around him j he 
stood in helpless bewilderment and dismay. 

All day he wandered blindly, and at nightfall 
found himself still in a hopeless solitude. Weary 
and hungry, he lay down at the foot of a great tree, 
and passed the night in broken slumbers. The next 
day he wandered onward in the same blind helpless- 
ness, reaching, in late afternoon, the waters of a 
forest pond, shadowed by thick pines, and with 
water-fowl on its brink. One of these he shot, kin- 
dled a fire and cooked it, and for the first time since 
his misadventure tasted food. At night there came 
on a cold rain, drenched by which the blanketless 
wanderer was forced to seek sleep in the open wood. 

Another day of fruitless wandering succeeded; 
another night of unrefreshing slumber. Paths were 
found in the forest, but they had been made by other 
feet than those of men, and if followed would lead 
him deeper into the seemingly endless wild. Eoused 
by the new day from his chill couch, the lost wan- 
derer despairingly roamed on, now almost hopeless of 
escape. Yet what sound was that which reached his 
ear ? It was the silvery tinkle of a woodland rill, 
which crept onward unseen in the depths of a bushy 
glen. A ray of hope shot into his breast. This de- 
scending rivulet might lead him to the river where 
the himters lay encamped. With renewed energy he 
traced its course, making his way through thicket and 
glen, led ever onwards by that musical sound, till he 
found himself on the borders of a small lake, within 
.which the waters of his forest guide were lost. 



CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 51 

This lake, he felt, must have an outlet. He circled 
round it, clambering over fallen trees and forcing 
his way through thorny vines, till he saw, amid roots 
of alder-bushes, a streamlet flow from the lakeside. 
This he hopefully followed. Not far had he gone 
before a dull roar met his ears, breaking the sullen 
silence of the woods. It was the sound of falling 
waters. He hastened forward. The wood grew 
thinner. Light appeared before him. Pushing 
gladly onward, he broke through the screening 
bushes and found himself on the edge of an open 
meadow, wild animals its only tenants, some browsing 
on the grass, others lurking in bushy coverts. Yet 
a more gladsome sight to his eyes was the broad 
river, which here rushed along in a turbul^t rapid, 
whose roar it was which had come to his ear in the 
forest glades. 

He looked about him. On the rocky river-bank 
was a portage-path made by Indian feet. The 
place seemed familiar. A second sweeping gaze ; 
yes, here were points he had seen before. He was 
saved. Glad at heart, he camped upon the river, 
brink, kindled a fire, cooked the remains of his 
game, and passed that night, at least, in dreamless 
sleep. With daybreak he rose, followed the river 
downwards, and soon saw the smoke of the Indian 
camp-fires ascending in the morning air. In a few 
moments he had joined his dusky friends, greatly to 
their delight. They had sought him everywhere in 
vain, and now chided him gently for his careless 
risk, declaring that thenceforth they would never 
suffer him to go into the forest alone. 



SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE 
SILVER-SHIP, 

The story of a poor boy, born on the edge of the 
wilderness, — " at a despicable plantation on the river 
of Kennebec, and almost the farthest village of the 
eastern settlement of New England," — yet who 
ended his life as governor and nobleman, is what we 
have to t^ll. It is one of the most romantic stories 
in history. He was born in 1651, being a scion of 
the early days of the Puritan colony. He came of 
a highly prolific pioneer family, — he had twenty 
brothers and five sisters, — yet none but himself of 
this extensive family are heard of in history or 
biography. Genius is too rare a quality to be spread 
through such a flock. His father was a gunsmith. 
Of the children, William was one of the youngest. 
After his father's death, he helped his mother at 
sheep-keeping in the wilderness till he was eighteen 
years of age, then there came "an unaccountable 
impulse upon his mind that he was born to greater 
matters." The seed of genius planted in his nature 
was beginning to germinate. 

The story of the early life of William Phips may 
be told in a few words. From sheep-tending he 
turned to carpentry, becoming an expert ship-car- 
62 




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SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP. 53 

penter. With this trade at his fingers' ends he went 
to Boston, and there first learned to read and write, 
accomplishments which had not penetrated to the 
Kennebec. His next step was to marry, his wife 
being a widow, a Mrs. Hull, with little money but 
good connections. She lifted our carpenter a step 
higher in the social scale. At that time, says his 
biographer, "he was one tall beyond the common 
set of men, and thick as well as tall, and strong as 
well as thick ; exceedingly robust, and able to con- 
quer such difficulties of diet and of travel as would 
have killed most men alive. He was of a very 
comely though a very manly countenance," and in 
character of " a most incomparable generosity." He 
hated anything small or mean, was somewhat chol- 
eric, but not given to nourish malice. 

To this notable young man there soon came an 
adventure. He had become a master workman, and 
built a ship for some Boston merchants on the river 
Sheepscote, a few leagues from his native Kennebec, 
The vessel was finished, and ready to be loaded with 
lumber ; but its first cargo proved to be very different 
from that which Phips had designed. For Indians 
attacked the settlement ; the inhabitants, flying for 
their lives, crowded on board the vessel, and Phips 
set sail with a shipload of his old friends and neigh- 
bors, who could pay him only in thanks. It is not 
unlikely that some of his own brothers and sisters 
were among the rescued. Certainly the extensive 
family of Phips must have spread somewhat widely 
over the coast region of Maine. 

WiUiam Phips's first adventure had proved un- 

5* 



54 HISTORICAL TALES. 

profitable except in works of charity. But he was 
not one to be easily put down, having in his nature 
an abundance of the perilous stuif of ambition. He 
was not the man to sit down and wait for fortune to 
come to him. Rather, he belonged to those who go 
to seek fortune. He was determined, he told his 
wife, to become captain of a king's ship, and owner 
of a fair brick house in the Green Lane of North 
Boston. It took him some eight or nine years to 
make good the first of these predictions, and then, 
in the year 1683, he sailed into the harbor of Boston 
as captain of the " Algier Eose," a frigate of eighteen 
guns and ninety-five men. 

It was by the magic wand of sunken silver that 
our hero achieved this success. The treasures of 
Peru, loaded on Spanish ships, had not all reached 
the ports of Spain. Some cargoes of silver had gone 
to the bottom of the Atlantic. Phips had heard of 
such a wreck on the Bahamas, had sailed thither, 
and had made enough money by the enterprise to 
pay him for a voyage to England. "While in the Ba- 
hamas he had been told of another Spanish wreck, 
"wherein was lost a mighty treasure, hitherto un- 
discovered." It was this that took him to England. 
He had made up his mind to be the discoverer of this 
sunken treasure-ship. The idea took possession of 
him wholly. His hope was to interest some wealthy 
persons, or the government itself, in his design. The 
man must have had in him something of that silver- 
tongued eloquence which makes persuasion easy, for 
the royalties at Whitehall heard him with favor and 
support, and he came back to New England captain 



SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP. 55 

of a king's ship, with full powers to search the seas 
for silver. 

And now we have reached the verge of the 
romance of the life of William Phips. He had be- 
fore him a difficult task, but he possessed the quali- 
ties which enable men to meet and overcome diffi- 
culty. The silver-ship was said to have been sunk 
somewhere near the Bahamas; the exact spot it 
was not easy to learn, for half a century bad passed 
since its demise. Sailing thither in the "Algier 
Eose," Phips set himself to find the sunken treasure. 
Here and there he dredged, using every effort to 
gain information, trying every spot available, ending 
now in disappointment, starting now with renewed 
hope, continuing with unflagging energy. His fre- 
quent failures would have discouraged a common 
man, but Phips was not a common man, and would 
not accept defeat. 

The resolute searcher had more than the difficulties 
of the sea-bottom to contend with. His men lost 
hope, grew weary of unprofitable labor, and at last 
rose in mutiny. They fancied that they saw their 
way clear to an easier method of getting silver, and 
marched with drawn cutlasses to the quarter-deck, 
where they bade their commander to give up his 
useless search and set sail for the South Seas. There 
they would become pirates, and get silver without 
dredging or drudging. 

It was a dangerous crisis. Phips stood with 
empty hands before that crew of armed and reckless 
men. Yet choler and courage proved stronger than 
sword-blades. Eoused to fury, he rushed upon the 



56 HISTORICAL TALES. 

mutineers with bare hands, knocked them down till 
the deck was strewn with fallen bodies, and by sheer 
force of anger and fearlessness quelled the mutiny 
and forced the men to return to their duty. 

They were quelled, but not conquered. The daring 
adventurez was to have a more dangerous encounter 
with these would-be pirates. Some further time had 
passed in fruitless search. The frigate lay careened 
beside a rock of a Bahaman island, some eight or ten 
men being at work on its barnacled sides, while the 
others had been allowed to go on shore. They pre- 
tended that they wished to take a ramble in the 
tropical woods. What they wished to do was to 
organize a more eifectual mutiny, seize the ship, 
leave the captain and those who held with him on 
that island, and sail away as lawless rovers of the 
deep. 

Under the great trees of that Spanish island, 
moss-grown and bowery, in a secluded spot which 
nature seemed to have set aside for secret counsels, 
the mutinous crew perfected their plans, and signed 
a round-robin compact which pledged all present to 
the perilous enterprise. One man they needed to 
make their project sure. They could not do without 
the carpenter. He was at work on the vessel. They 
sent him a message to come to them in the woods. 
He came, heard their plans, affected to look on them 
favorably, but asked for a half-hour to consider 
the matter. This they were not disposed to grant. 
They must have an answer at once. The carpenter 
looked about him ; dark and resolute faces surrounded 
him. Yet he earnestly declared he must have the 



SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP. 57 

time. They vigorously declared he should not. He 
was persistent, and in the end prevailed. The half- 
hour respite was granted. 

The carpenter then said that he must return to 
the vessel. His absence from his work would look 
suspicious. They could send a man with him to see 
that he kept faith. The enterprise would be in 
danger if the captain noticed his absence. The 
mutineers were not men of much intelligence or 
shrewdness, and consented to his return. The car- 
penter, who had at heart no thought of joining 
the mutineers, had gained his point and saved 
the ship. In spite of the guard upon his move- 
ments he managed to get a minute's interview with 
Captain Phips, in which he told him what was 
afoot. 

He was quickly at his post again, and under the 
eyes of his guard, but he had accomi^lished his pur- 
pose. Captain Phips was quick to realize the danger, 
and called about him those who were still in the 
ship. They all agreed to stand by him. By good 
fortune the gunner was among them. The energetic 
captain lost no time in devising what was to be done. 
During the work on the ship the provisions had been 
taken ashore and placed in a tent, where several 
pieces of artillery were mounted to defend them, in 
case the Spaniards, to whom the island belonged, 
should appear. Quickly but quietly these guns were 
brought back to the ship. Then they and the other 
guns of the ship were loaded and brought to bear 
on the tent, and the gangway which connected the 
ship with the land was drawn on board. 'No great 



58 HISTORICAL TALES. 

time had elapsed, but Captain Phips was ready for 
his mutinous crew. 

To avert suspicion during these preparations, the 
carpenter, at the suggestion of Phips, had gone 
ashore, and announced himself as ready to join the 
mutineers. This gave them great satisfaction, and 
after a short interval to complete their plans they 
issued in a body from the woods and approached the 
ship. As they drew near the tent, however, they 
looked at one another in surprise and dismay. The 
guns were gone ! 

" We are betrayed !" was the fearful whisper that 
ran round the circle. 

" Stand off, you wi-etches, at your peril !" cried the 
captain, in stern accents. 

The guns of the ship were trained upon them. 
They knew the mettle of Captain Phips. In a min- 
ute more cannon-balls might be ploughing deadly gaps 
through their midst. They dared not fly ; they dared 
not fight. Panic fear took possession of them. They 
fell upon their knees in a body, begged the captain 
not to fire, and vowed that they would rather live 
and die with him than any man in the world. All 
they had found fault with was that he would not 
turn pirate; otherwise he was the man of their hearts 

The captain was stern ; they were humble and be- 
seeching. In the end he made them deliver up their 
arms, and then permitted them to come on board, 
a thoroughly quelled body of mutineers. But Cap- 
tain Phips knew better than to trust these men a 
third time. The moment the ship was in sailing 
trim he hoisted anchor and sailed for Jamaica, where 



SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP. 59 

he turned the whole crew, except the few faithful 
ones, adrift,, and shipped another crew, smaller, but, 
as he hoped, more trustworthy. 

The treasure-ship still drew him like a magnet. 
He had not begun to think of giving up the search. 
Discouragement, failure, mutiny, were to him but 
incidents. The silver was there, somewhere, and 
have it he would, if perseverance would avail. From 
Jamaica he sailed to Hispaniola. There his fluent 
persuasiveness came again into play. He met a 
very old man, Spaniard or Portuguese, who was said 
to know where the ship lay, and " by the policy of 
his address" wormed from him some further infor- 
mation about the treasure-ship. The old man told 
him that it had been wrecked on a reef of shoals a 
few leagues from Hispaniola, and just north of Port 
de la Plata, which place got its name from the land- 
ing there of a boat-load of sailors with plate saved 
from the sinking vessel. Phips proceeded thither 
and searched narrowly, but without avail. The sea 
held its treasures well. The charmed spot was not 
to be found. The new crew, also, seemed growing 
mutinous. Phips had had enough of mutiny. He 
hoisted sail and made the best of his way back to 
England. 

Here trouble and annoyance awaited him. He 
found powerful enemies. Doubtless ridicule also met 
his projects. To plough the bottom of the Atlantic, in 
search of a ship that had gone down fifty years 
before, certainly seemed to yield fair food for mirth. 
Yet the polite behavior, the plausible speech, the 
enthusiasm and energy of the man had their effect. 



60 HISTORICAL TALES. 

He won friends among the higher nobility. The 
story of the mutiny and of its bold suppression had 
also its effect. A man who could attack a horde of 
armed mutineers with his bare fists, a man so ready 
and resolute in time of danger, so unflinchingly per- 
severing in time of discouragement, was the man to 
succeed if success were possible. Finally, the Duke 
of Albemarle and some others agreed to supply 
funds for the expedition, and Captain Phips in no 
long time had another ship under his feet, and was 
once more upon the seas. 

His ship was now accompanied by a tender. He 
had contrived many instruments to aid him in his 
search. It is said that he invented the diving-bell. 
There was certainly one used by him, but it may 
have been an old device, improved by his Yankee 
ingenuity. 

Port de la Plata was reached in due time, the 
year being 1684 or 1685. Here Phips had a large 
canoe or periago made, fitted for eight or ten oars. 
It was hollowed out from the trunk of a cotton-tree, 
he using "his own hands and adze" in the work, 
enduring much hardship, and "lying abroad in the 
woods many nights together." 

The shoals where search was to be made were 
known by the name of the " Boilers." They lay only 
two or three feet below the surface, yet their sloping 
sides were so steep that, says one author, " a ship 
striking on them would immediately sink down, who 
could say how many fathom, into the ocean ?" 

The tender and the periago were anchored near 
these dangerous shoals, and the work went on from 



SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP. 61 

them. Days passed, still of fruitless labor. The 
men, as they said, could make nothing of all their 
" peeping among the Boilers." Fortunately they had 
calm weather and a quiet sea, and could all day long 
pursue their labors around and among the shoals. 

A day came in which one of them, looking far down 
into the smooth water, saw what is known as a sea- 
feather, one of the attractive products of those 
gardens of the seas, growing out of what seemed a 
rock below him. He turned to an Indian diver, and 
asked him to dive down and bring it up. 

" We will take it to the captain," he said. " It is 
tiresome going back always empty-handed." 

The diver made the leap. In a minute he was 
back with the sea-feather in his hand. There were 
signs of excitement on his dusky face as he climbed 
into the boat. lie had indeed a surprising story to 
tell. 

" I saw great guns down there," he said. 

" What ? guns ?" was the general cry. 

" Yes, great guns, as from some ship." 

" Guns !" The despondency of the crew at once 
changed to ardent enthusiasm. Had they at length 
hit upon the spot for which they had so long sought 
in vain ? The Indian was told to dive again, and 
see what could be found. 

He did so. When he came up, their eyes were 
ready to start from their heads, for he bore with 
him an object of infinite promise to their wealth- 
craving souls. It was a lump of silver, — a " sow," 
they called it, — worth some two or three hundred 
pounds in money. 

6 



62 HISTORICAL TALES. 

The search was over ! The spot was found ! For- 
tune lay within their reach ! Marking the spot with 
a buoy, they rowed back to the ship, on which the 
captain had remained. Here they, disposed to have 
some sport, declared with long faces that the affair 
had better come to an end. They were wasting time 
and labor ; the sea had no treasures to yield. 

"If we were wise, captain," said the leading 
speaker, " we'd pull up stakes and sail back for merry 
old England. There's nothing but failure here. As 
much work done in digging and drudging at home 
would bring tenfold more profit." 

Phips listened in silence to him and the others, 
looking from face to face. 

" Our disappointments have been many," he re- 
plied, in a calm and resolute tone. " Yet I do not 
despair. I am determined to wait patiently on God's 
providence. We will find the treasure-ship yet, my 
lads. Do not lose courage." 

Turning his gaze to one side as he spoke, he 
started violently, and then asked, in a tone so con- 
strained that it seemed the voice of agony, — 

" Why, what is this ? Whence comes this ? " 

He had caught sight of the sow of silver, which 
they had cunningly laid a little out of direct vision. 

" It is silver. Captain Phips," said the spokesman. 
" We did but jest with you. That came from the 
bottom of the sea. All is well ; we have found the 
treasure-ship." 

" Then, thanks be to God, we are made !" cried the 
captain, clasping his hands in fervent thankfulness. 

There was no longer any lack of energy in the 



SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP. 63 

labor. All hands went to work with a hearty good- 
will. Curiosity to learn what the sea had to yield 
wrought upon them as much as desire for reward. 
Up came the silver, sow after sow. In a short time 
they had brought up no less than thirty -two tons of 
this precious metal, with six tons besides that were 
raised and appropriated by a Captain Adderly, of 
Providence, whom Phips had engaged to help him, 
and who took this means of helping himself. His 
crew was small, but his diligence great. 

The silver was not all in sows. Much of it was 
coined, and this coined silver was, in many cases, 
covered with a crust, several inches thick, of lime- 
stone-like material. It came out in great lumps, the 
crust needing to be broken with iron tools, when out 
would tumble whole bushels of rusty pieces of 
eight. Nor was the treasure confined to silver. There 
came up gold in large quantities, and also pearls and 
other precious stones. The Spaniards had gleaned 
actively in those days of old, when the treasures of 
Peru were theirs for the taking; and the ocean, its 
secret hiding-place once found, yielded generously. 
In short, the treasure recovered is said to have been 
worth nearly three hundred thousand pounds sterling. 
They did not exhaust the deposit. Their provisions 
failed, and they had to leave before the work was 
completed. Others who came after them were well 
paid for their labor. 

The treasure on board. Captain Phips had new 
trouble. The men, seeing " such vast litters of silver 
sows and pigs come on board," were not content 
with ordinary sailors' pay. They might even be 



64 HISTORICAL TALES. 

tempted to seize the ship and take its rich lading 
for themselves. Phips was in great apprehension. 
He had not forgotten the conduct of his former 
crew. He did his utmost to gain the friendship of 
his men, and promised them a handsome reward for 
their services, even if he had to give them all his own 
share. 

England was reached in safety, and the kingdom 
electrified by the story of Captain Phips's success. 
The romantic incidents of the narrative attracted 
universal attention. Phips was the hero of the hour. 
Some of his enemies, it is true, did their utmost to 
make him a wronged hero. They diligently sought 
to persuade James II., then on the throne, to seize 
the whole treasure as the appanage of the crown, 
and not be content with the tithe to which his pre- 
rogative entitled him. James II. was tyrannical but 
not unjust. He refused to rob the mariners. *' Cap- 
tain Phips," he said, " ho saw to be a person of that 
honesty, ability, and fidelity that he should not want 
his countenance." 

Phips was certainly honest, — so much so, indeed, 
that little of the treasure came to him. His promises 
to his men were carefully kept ; his employers were 
paid the last penny of their dues ; in the end, out of 
the whole, there remained to himself less than sixteen 
thousand pounds. The Duke of Albemarle, moved 
by admiration for his honesty, gave him, as a present 
from his wife, a gold cup of the value of nearly 
one thousand pounds. As for the king, he was so 
pleased with the whole conduct of the adventurer, 
and perhaps so charmed by Phips's silvery speech, 



SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP. 65 

that he conferred on him the honor of knighthood, 
and the plain Kennebec boy became Sir William 
Phips, and a member of the aristocracy of England. 

Every one acknowledged that the discoverer 
owed his success to merit, not to luck. He was evi- 
dently a man of the highest capacity, and might, 
had he chosen, have filled high places and gained 
great honors in England. But America was his 
native land, and he was not to be kept from its 
shores. 

He became such a favorite at court, that one day, 
when King James was particularly gracious to him, 
and asked him what favor he desired, he replied that 
he asked nothing for himself, but hoped that the 
king would restore to his native province its lost 
liberties, by returning the charter of which it had 
been deprived. 

" Anything but that !" exclaimed James, who had 
no idea of restoring liberty to mother-land or colony. 

He appointed Phips, however, high sheriff of 
^evf England, and the adventurer returned home as 
a man of power and station. On his way there 
he visited the silver-ship again, and succeeded in 
adding something of value to his fortune. Then, 
sailing to Boston, he rejoined his wife after a five 
years' absence, and, to complete the realization of 
his predictions, immediately began to build himself 
a " fair brick house in Green Lane." 

We have finished our story, which was to tell how 

the sheep-boy of the Kennebec rose to be high 

sheriff of New Enoland, with the privilege of writing 

"Sir" before his name. His after-life was little less 

I. — e 6* 



66 HISTORICAL TALES. 

memorable than the part of it told, but we have no 
space left to tell it in. 

King James was soon driven from the throne, and 
King William took his place, but Sir William Phips 
retained his power and influence. In 1690 he led 
an army against Port Eoyal in Acadia, took it, and 
came back to receive the plaudits of the Bostonians. 
He next attempted to conquer all Canada from the 
French, attacked Quebec with a strong force, but 
was repulsed, largely in consequence of a storm that 
scattered his ships. The Bostonians had now no 
plaudits for him. The expedition had cost New Eng- 
land about forty thousand pounds, and there was 
not a penny in the treasury. The difficulty was 
overcome by the issue of treasury-notes, an expe- 
dient which was not adopted in England till five 
years afterwards. Charles Montagu, the alleged 
inventor of exchequer bills, doubtless owed his idea 
to the sharp-witted Bostonians. 

The beginning of 1692 found Sir William again in 
England, whence he came back to his native land as 
captain-general and governor-in-chief of the colony 
of Massachusetts. From sheep-boy he had risen to 
the title of "Your Excellency." Phips was governor 
of Massachusetts during the witchcraft delusion. 
The part he took in it was not a very active one ; 
but when, in 1693, he found that grand juries were 
beginning to throw out indictments, and petit juries 
to return verdicts of "Not guilty," he ended the 
whole mad business by emptying the prisons, then 
containing about one hundred and fifty persons com- 
mitted, while over two hundred more were accused. 



SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP. 67 

In 1693 Governor Phips led an expedition against 

the Indians of Maine, and forced them to conclude 

a treaty of peace. In 1694 he went to England, to 

answer certain accusations against his conduct as 

governor, and here was taken suddenly sick, and died 
February 18, 1695. 

The noble house of Phips, thus instituted, has 
steadily grown in rank and dignity since that date, 
bearing successively the titles of baron, viscount, 
earl, until finally, in 1838, a Phips attained the rank 
of marquis of Normandy. It is a remarkable devel- 
opment from the life of that poor boy, one of a family 
of twenty-six, whose early Hfe was spent in tending 
sheep in the wilderness of Maine. 



THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES. 

The years 1675 and 1676 were years of terrible 
experience for New England. The most dreadful 
of all the Indian outbreaks of that region — that 
known as King Phihp's War — was raging, and hun- 
dreds of the inhabitants fell victims to the ruthless 
rage of their savage foes. "Whole villages perished, 
their inhabitants being slain on the spot, or carried 
away captive for the more cruel fate of Indian ven- 
geance. The province was in a state of terror, for 
none knew at what moment the terrible war-whoop 
might sound, and the murderous enemy be upon 
them with tomahawk and brand. 

Everywhere the whites were on the alert. The 
farmer went to his fields with his musket as an 
indispensable companion. Outlying houses were 
guarded like fortresses. Even places of worship 
were converted into strongholds, and the people 
prayed with musket in hand, and, while listening to 
the exhortations of their pastors, kept keenly alive 
to the sounds without, for none could tell at what 
moment the foe might break in on their devotions. 

In the frontier town of Hadley, Massachusetts, 
then on the northwestern edge of civilization, on a 
day in the summer of 1676, the people were thus all 
68 



THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES. 69 

gathered at the meeting-house, engaged in divine 
Bervice. It was a day of fasting and prayer, set 
aside to implore God's aid to relieve the land from 
the reign of terror which had come upon it. Yet 
the devout villagers, in their appeal for spiritual aid, 
did not forget the importance of temporal weapons. 
They had brought their muskets with them, and 
took part in the pious exercises with these carnal 
instruments of safety within easy reach of their 
hands. 

Their caution was well advised. In the midst of 
their devotional exercises a powerful body of Indians 
made a sudden onslaught upon the village. They 
had crept up in their usual stealthy way, under 
cover of trees and bushes, and their wild yells as 
they assailed the outlying houses were the first in- 
timation of their approach. 

These alarming sounds reached the ears of the 
worshippers, and quickly brought their devotional 
services to an end. In an instant all thought of de- 
pendence upon the Almighty was replaced by the 
instinct of dependence upon themselves. Grasping 
their weapons, they hurried out, to find themselves 
face to face with the armed and exultant savages, 
who now crowded the village street, and whose cries 
of triumph filled the air with discordant sounds. 

The people were confused and frightened, huddled 
together with little show of order or discipline, and 
void of the spirit and energy necessary to meet their 
threatening foe. The Indians were on all sides, com- 
pletely surrounding them. The suddenness of the 
alarm and the evidence of imminent peril robbed 



70 HISTORICAL TALES. 

the villagers of their usual vigor and readiness, signs 
of panic were visible, and had the Indians attacked 
at that moment the people must have been hurled 
back in disorderly flight, to become in great part the 
victims of their foes. 

It was a critical moment. Was Hadley to suffer 
the fate of other frontier towns, or would the recent 
prayers of pastor and people bring some divine inter- 
position in their favor ? Yes ; suddenly it seemed 
as if God indeed had come to their aid ; for as they 
stood there in a state of nerveless dread a venerable 
stranger appeared in their midst, a tall, stately per- 
sonage, with long white hair, and dressed in strange, 
old-fashioned garb, his countenance beaming with 
energy and decision. 

"Quick," he cried, "into line and order at once! 
The Indians are about to charge upon you. Take 
heart, and prepare for them, or they will slaughter 
you like sheep." 

With the air of one born to command, he hastily 
formed the band of villagers into military array, 
displaying such skill and ardor that their temporary 
fright vanished, to be succeeded by courage and con- 
fidence. Had not the Almighty sent this venerable 
stranger to their aid ? Should they fear when led 
by Grod's messenger? 

" Now, upon them !" cried their mysterious leader. 
" We must have the advantage of the assault !" 

Putting himself at their head, he led them on with 
an ardor remarkable in one of his years. The sav- 
ages, who had been swarming together preparatory 
to an attack, beheld with sui*prise this orderly rush 



THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES. 71 

forward of the villagers, and shrunk from their death- 
dealing and regular volleys. And the white-haired 
form who led their foes with such fearless audacity 
struck terror to their superstitious souls, filling them 
with dread and dismay. 

The struggle that followed was short and decisive. 
Animated by the voice and example of their leader, 
the small band attacked their savage enemies with 
such vigor and show of discipline that in very few 
minutes the Indians were in full flight for the wilder- 
ness, leaving a considerable number of dead upon 
the ground. Of the villagers only two or three had 
fallen. 

The grateful people, when the turmoil and con- 
fusion of the affray were over, turned to thank their 
venerable leader for his invaluable aid. To their 
sui'prise he was nowhere to be seen. He had van- 
ished in the same mysterious manner as he had 
appeared. They looked at one another in bewilder- 
ment. What did this strange event signify ? Had 
God really sent one of his angels from heaven, in 
response to their prayers, to rescue them from de- 
struction ? Such was the conclusion to which some 
of the people came, while the most of them believed 
that there was some miracle concerned in their 
strange preservation. 

This interesting story, which tradition has pre- 
served in the form here given, has a no less interest- 
ing sequel. We know, what most of the villagers 
never knew, who their preserver was, and how it 
happened that he came so opportunely to their 
rescue. To complete our narrative we must go back 



72 HISTORICAL TALES. 

years in time, to the date of 1649, the year of the 
execution of Charles I. of England. 

Fifty-nine signatures had been affixed to the death- 
warrant of this royal criminal. A number of the 
signers afterwards paid the penalty of that day's 
work on the scaffold. We are concerned here only 
with two of them, Generals Whalley and Goffe, who, 
after the death of Cromwell and the return of 
Charles II., fled for safety to New England, know- 
ing well what would be their fate if found in their 
mother-land. A third of the regicides, Colonel Dix- 
well, afterwards joined them in America, but his 
story is void of the romance which surrounded that 
of his associates. 

Whalley and Goffe reached Boston in July, 1660. 
The vessel that brought them brought also tidings 
that Charles II. was on the throne. The fugitives 
were well received. They had stood high in the 
Commonwealth, brought letters of commendation 
from Puritan ministers in England, and hoped to 
dwell in peace in Cambridge, where they decided to 
fix their residence. But the month of November 
brought a new story to Boston. In the Act of 
Indemnity passed by Parliament the names of Whal- 
ley and Goffe were among those left out. They had 
played a part in the execution of the king, and to 
the regicides no mercy was to be shown. Their 
estates were confiscated; their lives declared for- 
feited ; any man who befriended them did so at his 
own peril. 

These tidings produced excitement and alarm in 
Boston. The Puritans of the colony were all warmly 



THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES. 73 

inclined towards their endangered guests. Some 
would have protected them at all hazards ; others 
felt inclined to help them to escape ; a few thought 
it might be their duty to take them prisoners. 

The illustrious fugitives settled this difficulty by 
privately leaving Cambridge and making their way 
overland to New Haven. Here they were well re- 
ceived. In truth, the Eev. John Davenport, one of 
the founders of the colony, did not hesitate to speak 
to his congregation in their behalf We quote from 
his bold and significant words, whose slightly masked 
meaning his hearers failed not to understand. 

" Withhold not countenance, entertainment, and 
protection from the people of God, — whom men may 
call fools and fanatics, — if any such come to you 
from other countries, as from France or England, 
or any other place. Be not forgetful to entertain 
strangers. Hide the outcasts, betray not him that 
wandereth. Let mine outcasts dwell with thee, 
Moab. Be thou a covert to them from the face of 
the spoiler." 

Mr. Davenport was not afraid to live up to the 
spirit of his words. For several weeks the regicides 
dwelt openly in his house. But meanwhile a proc- 
lamation from the king had reached Boston, ordering 
their arrest as traitors and murderers. News of its 
arrival was quickly received at New Haven. The 
fugitives, despite the sympathy of the people, were 
in imminent danger. Measures must be taken for 
their safety. 

They left New Haven and proceeded to Milford, 
where they showed themselves in public. But by 
D 7 



74 HISTORICAL TALES. 

night they covertly returned, and for more than a 
week lay hid in Mr. Davenport's cellar. This cellar 
is still in existence, and the place in it where the 
fugitives are said to have hidden may still be seen. 

But their danger soon grew more imminent. Per- 
emptory orders came from England for their arrest. 
Governor Endicott felt obliged to act decisively. He 
gave commission to two young royalists who had 
recently come from England, empowering them to 
search through Massachusetts for the fugitives. 
Letters to the governors of the other colonies, re- 
questing aid in their purpose, were also given them. 

These agents of the king at once started on their 
mission of death. They had no difficulty in tracing 
the fugitives to l^ew Haven. One person went so 
far as to tell them that the men they sought were 
secreted in Mr. Davenport's house. Stopping at 
Guilford, they showed their warrant to Mr. Leete, 
the deputy-governor, and demanded horses for their 
journey, and aid and power to search for and appre- 
hend the fugitives. 

Deputy Leete had little heart for this task. He 
knew very well where the fugitives were, but man- 
aged to make such excuses and find so many reasons 
for delay that the agents, who arrived on Saturday, 
were detained until Sunday, and then, as this was 
Puritan New England, could not get away till Mon- 
day. Meanwhile a secret messenger was on his way 
to New Haven, to warn the fugitives of their danger. 
On hearing this startling news they hastily removed 
from their hiding-place in Mr. Davenport's house, and 
were taken to a secluded mill two miles away. 



THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES. iO 

The royal messengers reached 'New Haven and 
demanded the assistance of the authorities in their 
search. They failed to get it. Every obstacle was 
thrown in their way. They equally failed to find any 
trace of the fugitives, though the latter did not leave 
the immediate vicinity of the town. After two days 
at the mill they were taken to a hiding-place at a spot 
called Hatchet Harbor, and soon afterwards, finding 
this place too exposed, they removed to a cavern-like 
covert in a heap of large stones, near the summit of 
West Eock, not far from the town. Here they re- 
mained in hiding for several months, being supplied 
with food from a lonely farm-house in the neighbor- 
hood. 

The royal agents, finding their search fruitless 
and their eiforts to get aid from the magistrates 
vexatiously bafiied, at length returned to Boston, 
where they told a bitter story of the obstinate and 
pertinacious contempt of his Majesty's orders dis- 
played by these New Haven worthies. The chase 
thus given up, the fugitives found shelter in a house 
in Milford, where they dwelt in seclusion for two 
years. 

But danger returned. The king demanded blood- 
revenge for his father's death. Commissioners from 
England reached Boston, armed with extraordinary 
powers of search. The pursuit was renewed with 
greater energy than before. The fugitives, finding 
the danger imminent, and fearing to bring their pro- 
tectors into trouble, returned to their cave. Here 
they lay for some time in security, while the sur- 
rounding country was being actively scoured by 



76 HISTORICAL TALES. 

parties of search. On one occasion, when out of 
their place of shelter, they were so nearly overtaken 
that they only escaped by hiding under a bridge. 
This was what is known as Neck Bridge, over Mill 
Eiver. As they sat beneath it they heard above 
them the hoof-beats of their pursuers' horses on the 
bridge. The sleuth-hounds of the law passed on 
without dreaming how nearly their victims had been 
within their reach. This was not the only narrow 
escape of the fugitives. Several times they were 
in imminent danger of capture, yet fortune always 
came to their aid. 

A day arrived in which the cave ceased to serve as 
a safe harbor of refuge. A party of Indians, hunting 
in the woods, discovered its lurking occupants. Fear- 
ing that the savages might betray them, to obtain the 
large reward offered, the fugitives felt it necessary 
to seek a new place of shelter. A promising plan 
was devised by their friends, who included all the 
pious Puritans of the colony. Leaving the vicinity 
of 'New Haven, and travelling by night only, the 
aged regicides made their way, through many miles 
of forest, to Hadley, then an outpost in the wilder- 
ness. Here the Eev. John Russell, who ministered 
to the spiritual wants of the inhabitants, gladly re- 
ceived and sheltered them. His house had been 
lately added to, and contained many rooms and 
closets. In doing this work a hiding-place had been 
prepared for his expected guests. One of the closets, 
in the garret, had doors opening into two chambers, 
while its floor-boards were so laid that they could be 
slipped aside and admit to a dark under-closet. From 



THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES. 77 

this there seems to have been a passage-way to the 
cellar. 

With this provision for their retreat, in case the 
house should be searched, Mr. Russell gave harbor 
to the hunted regicides, the secret of their presence 
being known only to his family and one or two of the 
most trusty inhabitants. The fugitives, happily for 
them, had no occasion to avail themselves of the 
concealed closet. Their place of hiding remained for 
years unsuspected. In time the rigor of the search 
was given up, and for many years they remained 
here in safety, their secret being remarkably well 
kept. It was in 1664 that they reached Hadley. 
In 1676, when Colonel Goffe so opportunely served 
the villagers in their extremity, so little was it 
known that two strangers had dwelt for twelve 
years concealed in their midst, that some of the 
people, as we have said, decided that their rescuer 
must be an angel from heaven, in default of other 
explanation of his sudden appearance. 

There is little more to say about them. General 
Whalley died at Hadley, probably in the year of the 
Indian raid, and was buried in the cellar of Mr. 
Eussell's house, his secret being kept even after his 
death. His bones have since been found there. As 
for General Goffe, his place of exit from this earth is 
a mystery. Tradition says that he left Hadley, went 
" westward towards Virginia," and vanished from 
human sight and knowledge. The place of his death 
and burial remains unknown. 

It may be said, in conclusion, that Colonel Dixwell 
joined his fellow-regicides in Hadley in 1665. He had 

7* 



78 HISTORICAL TALES. 

taken the name of Davids, was not known to be in 
America, and was comparatively safe. He had no 
reason to hide, and dwelt in a retired part of the 
town, where his presence and intercourse doubtless 
went far to relieve the monotony of life of his fel- 
lows in exile. He afterwards lived many years in 
"New Haven, where he spent much of his time in 
reading, — history being his favorite study, — ^in walk- 
ing in the neighboring groves, and in intercourse 
with the more cultivated inhabitants, the Eev. Mr. 
Pierpont being his intimate friend. He married 
twice while here, and at his death left a wife and 
two children, who resumed his true name, which he 
made known in his last illness. His descendants are 
well known in l^ew England, and the Dixwells are 
among the most respected Boston families of to-day. 



HOW THE CHARTER WAS 
SAVED. 

I^OT until James II. became king of England was 
a determined effort made to take away the liberties 
of the American colonies. All New England, up to 
that time, had been virtually free, working under 
charters of very liberal character, and governing 
itself in its own way and with its own elected rulers. 
Connecticut, with whose history we are now con- 
cerned, received its charter in 1662, from Charles 
II., and went on happily and prosperously until 
James ascended the throne. This bigoted tyrant, 
who spent his short reign in seeking to overthrow 
the liberties of England, quickly determined that 
America needed disciplining, and that these much 
too independent colonists ought to be made to feel 
the dominant authority of the king. The New Eng- 
land colonies in particular, which claimed charter 
rights and disdained royal governors, must be made 
to yield their patents and privileges, and submit to 
the rule of a governor-general, appointed by the 
king, with paramount authority over the colonies. 

Sir Edmund Andross, a worthy minion of a tyrant, 
was chosen as the first governor-general, and arrived 
at Boston in December, 1686, determined to bring 

79 



80 HISTORICAL TALES. 

these rampant colonists to a sense of their duty as 
humble subjects of his royal master. He quickly 
began to display autocratic authority, with an offen- 
siveness of manner that disgusted the citizens as 
much as his acts of tyranny annoyed them. The 
several colonies were peremptorily ordered to deliver 
up their charters. With the response to this com- 
mand we are not here concerned, except in the case 
of Connecticut, which absolutely refused. 

Months passed, during which the royal represent- 
ative aped kingly manners and dignity in Boston, 
and Connecticut went on undisturbed except by his 
wordy fulminations. But in October of the next 
year he made his appearance at Hartford, attended 
by a body-guard of some sixty soldiers and oflScers. 
The Assembly was in session. Sir Edmund marched 
with an important air into the chamber, and in a 
peremptory tone demanded that the charter should 
be immediately placed in his hands. 

This demand put the members into an awkward 
dilemma. The charter was in Hartford, in a place 
easy of access ; Sir Edmund was prepared to seize it 
by force if it were not quickly surrendered ; how to 
save this precious instrument of liberty did not at 
once appear. The members temporized, received 
their unwelcome visitor with every show of respect, 
and entered upon a long and calm debate, with a 
wearisome deliberation which the impatience of the 
governor-general could not hasten or cut short. 

Governor Treat, the presiding officer of the As- 
sembly, addressed Sir Edmund in tones of remon- 
strance and entreaty. The people of America, he 



HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED. 81 

said, had been at the greatest expense and had suf- 
fered the most extreme hardships in planting the 
country; they had freely spent their blood and 
treasure in defending it against savage natives and 
foreign aggressors ; and all this had been done for 
the honor and glory of the motherland. He himself 
had endured hardships and been environed by perils, 
and it would be like giving up his hfe to surrender 
the patent and privileges so dearly bought and so 
long enjoyed. 

Argument of this kind was wasted on Sir Edmund. 
Eemonstrance and appeal were alike in vain. It 
was the charter he wanted, not long-winded excuses, 
and he fumed and fretted while the slow-talking 
members wasted the hours in what he looked upon 
as useless argument. 

Night had been drawing near on his entrance. 
Darkness settled upon the Assembly while the de- 
bate went on. Lights were now brought in, — the tal- 
low candles of our colonial forefathers, — and placed 
upon the table around which the members sat. By 
this time Sir Edmund's impatience at their procras- 
tination had deepened into anger, and he demanded 
the charter in so decided tones that the reluctant 
governor gave orders that it should be produced. 
The box containing it was brought into the chamber 
and laid upon the table, the cover removed, and 
there before their eyes lay the precious parchment, 
the charter of colonial liberty. 

Still the members talked and procrastinated. But 
it is not easy to restrain the hound when within 
Bight of the game which it has long pursued. Before 

^ I.-/ 



82 HISTORICAL TALES. 

the eyes of Sir Edmund lay that pestiferous paper 
which had given him such annoyance. His impatience 
was no longer to be restrained. In the midst of the 
long-drawn-out oratory of the members he rose and 
stepped towards the table to seize the object in dispute. 

At that critical instant there came an unexpected 
diversion. During the debate a number of the more 
important citizens had entered the room, and stood 
near the table round which the members sat. Sud- 
denly, from the midst of those people, a long cloak 
was deftly flung, with such sure aim that it fell upon 
the circle of blazing candles, extinguishing them all, 
and in a moment throwing the room into total dark- 
ness. 

Confusion followed. There were quick and ex- 
cited movements within the room. Outside, the 
crowd which had assembled set up a lusty cheer, 
and a number of them pushed into the chamber. 
The members stirred uneasily in their seats. Sir 
Edmund angrily exclaimed, — 

" What means this, gentlemen ? Is some treachery 
at work ? Guard the charter ! Light those candles 
instantly !" 

The attendants hastened to obey; but haste in 
procuring light in those days had a different mean- 
ing than now. The lucifer-match had not yet been 
dreamed of The flint-and-steel was a slow concep- 
tion. Several minutes elapsed before the candles 
again shed their feeble glow through the room. 

With the first gleam of light every eye was fixed 
upon the box which had contained the charter. It 
was empty ! The charter was gone ! 






HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED. 83 

Just what Sir Edmund said on this occasion his- 
tory has not recorded. Those were days in which 
the most exalted persons dealt freely in oaths, and 
it is to be presumed that the infuriated governor- 
general used words that must have sadly shocked 
the pious ears of his Puritan auditors. 

But the charter had vanished, and could not be 
sworn back into the box. Where it had gone prob- 
ably no one knew ; certainly no one was willing to 
say. The members looked at one another in blank 
astonishment. The lookers-on manifested as blank 
an ignorance, though their faces beamed with delight. 
It had disappeared as utterly as if it had sunk into 
the earth, and the oaths of Sir Edmund and his efforts 
to recover it proved alike in vain. 

But the mystery of that night after-history has re- 
vealed, and the story can now be told. In truth, 
some of those present in the hall knew far more than 
they cared to tell. In the darkness a quick-moving 
person had made a lane through the throng to a 
neighboring window whose sash was thrown up. 
Out of this he leaped to the ground helow. Here 
people were thickly gathered. 

*' Make way," he said (or may have said, for his 
real words have not been preserved), " for Connecticut 
and liberty. I have the charter." 

The cheers redoubled. The crowd separated and 
let him through. In a minute he had disappeared in 
the darkness beyond. 

Sir Edmund meanwhile was storming like a fury 
in the hall ; threatening the colony with the anger 
of the king ; declaring that every man in the chamber 



84: HISTORICAL TALES. 

should be searched ; fairly raving in his disappoint- 
ment. Outside, the bold fugitive sped swiftly along 
the dark and quiet streets, ending his course at length 
in front of a noble and imposing oak-tree, which 
stood before the house of the Honorable Samuel 
Wyllis, one of the colonial magistrates. 

This tree was hollow ; the opening slender without, 
large within. Deeply into this cavity the fugitive 
thrust his arm, pushing the precious packet as far as 
it would go, and covering it thickly with fine debris 
at the bottom of the trunk. 

" So much for Sir Edmund," he said. " Let him 
now rob Connecticut of the charter of its liberties, if 
he can." 

Tradition — for it must be acknowledged that this 
story is traditional, though probably true in its main 
elements — tells us that this daring individual was 
Captain Joseph Wadsworth, a bold and energetic 
militia-leader who was yet to play another promi- 
nent part in the drama of colonial life. 

As for the Charter Oak, it long remained Hart- 
ford's most venerated historical monument. It be- 
came in time a huge tree, twenty-five feet in circum- 
ference near the roots. The cavity in which the 
charter was hidden grew larger year by year, until 
it was wide enough within to contain a child, though 
the orifice leading to it gradually closed until it was 
hardly large enough to admit a hand. This grand 
monument to liberty survived until 1856, when tem- 
pest in its boughs and decay in its trunk brought 
it in ruin to the earth. 

What followed may be briefly told. The charter 



HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED. 85 

lost, Sir Edmund Andross assumed control, declared 
the privileges granted by it to be annulled, and 
issued a proclamation in which the liberties of the 
colonies were replaced by the tyranny of autocratic 
rule. The colonists were forced to submit, but 
their submission was one of discontent and barely- 
concealed revolt. Fortunately the tyranny of Sir 
Edmund lasted not long. The next year the royal 
tyrant of England was driven from his throne, 
and the chain which he had laid upon the neck 
of Britannia and her colonies was suddenly re- 
moved. 

The exultation in America knew no bounds. An- 
dross was seized and thrown into prison in Boston, 
to preserve him from a ruder fate from the mob. 
Early in the next year he was shipped to England. 
Captain Wadsworth withdrew the charter from the 
hiding-place which had safely kept its secret until 
that hour, and placed it in the hands of the delighted 
governor. Jurists in England had declared that it 
was still in force, and the former government was at 
once resumed, amid the most earnest manifestations 
of joy by the populace. 

Yet the liberties of Connecticut were soon again 
to be imperilled, and were to be saved once more by 
the intrepid daring of Captain Wadsworth. 

It was now the year 1693. William of Orange 
had been for some years on the English throne. 
While far more liberal than his predecessor, his acts 
had somewhat limited the former freedom of the 
New England colonies. He did not attempt to ap- 
point royal governors over these truculent people, 

8 



S6 HISTORICAL TALES. 

but on Governor Fletcher, of New York, were con- 
ferred privileges which went far to set aside the 
charter rights of the neighboring colony. 

In brief, this royal governor was given full power 
of command over the militia of Connecticut, an act 
in direct contravention of the charter, which placed 
the military control in the hands of the colonial 
authorities. Fletcher pressed his claim. The gov- 
ernor indignantly refused to yield his rights. The 
people ardently supported him. 

Filled with blustering indignation, Governor Flet- 
cher left New York and came to Hartford, deter- 
mined that his authority should be acknowledged. 
He reached there on October 26, 1693. 

He called upon the governor and other authorities, 
armed with the royal commission, and sternly de- 
manded that the command of the militia should be 
handed over to him. 

"You have played with me in this matter," he 
asserted. "Now I demand an answer, immediate, 
and in two words. Yes or No. And I require that 
the militia of Hartford shall be instantly ordered 
under arms." 

" As for the latter, it shall be as you wish," an- 
swered the governor. " As for the former, we deny 
your authority. Nor will I, as you suggest, consent 
to hold command as your representative." 

The train-bands were ordered out. The demand 
had been expected, and no long time elapsed before 
these citizen-soldiers were assembled on the drill- 
ground of Hartford, — an awkward squad, probably, 
if we may judge from the train-bands of later 



HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED. 87 

days, but doubtless containing much good soldierly 
material. 

At their head stood their senior officer, Captain 
"Wadsworth, the same bold patriot who had so sig- 
nally defeated a royal governor six years before. He 
was now to add to his fame by as signally defeating 
another royal governor. 

When the New York potentate, accompanied by 
the governor and a number of the assemblymen, and 
by the members of his staff, reached the place, they 
found the valiant captain walking up and down 
before his men, busily engaged in putting them 
through their exercises. 

Governor Fletcher stepped forward importantly, 
produced his commission and instructions, and ordered 
them to be read to the assembled troops. The person 
to whom he handed them unfolded the commission, 
advanced to the front of the line, and prepared to 
read. He did not know with whom he had to deal. 

" Beat the drums !" cried Captain Wadsworth, in 
a stentorian voice. 

Instantly there broke out a roar that utterly 
drowned the voice of the reader. 

'* Silence !" exclaimed Fletcher, angrily advancing. 

The drums ceased their rattling uproar. Silence 
once more prevailed. The reader began again. 

"Drum! drum, I say!" thundered Wadsworth. 

Again such an uproar filled the air as only drum- 
heads beaten by vigorous arms can make. 

"Silence! silence!" cried Fletcher, furiously. The 
drums ceased. 

" Drum ! drum, I say !" roared Wadsworth. Then, 



88 HISTORICAL TALES. 

turning to the governor, and handling his sword 
significantly, he continued, in resolute tones, " If I 
am interrupted again I will make the sun shine 
through you in a minute." 

This fierce threat ended the business. Governor 
Fletcher had no fancy for being riddled by this 
truculent captain of militia. King William's com- 
mission doubtless had its weight, but the king was 
tliree thousand miles away across the seas, and 
Captain Wadsworth and his train-bands were un- 
pleasantly near. Governor Fletcher deemed it un- 
wise to try too strongly the fiery temper of the 
Hartford militiaman ; he and his suite returned 
hastily to New York, and that was the last that 
was heard of a royal commander for the militia of 
Connecticut. 



HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO 
PHILADELPHIA, 

To-day we may make our way from New York to 
Philadelphia in a two-hour "Flyer," with palace-car 
accommodations. To-morrow, perhaps, the journey 
will be made in ninety minutes. Such, at least, is 
the nearly-realized dream of railroad-men. A cen- 
tury and a half ago this journey took considerably 
more time, and was made with much less comfort. 
There is on record an interesting narrative of how 
the trip was made in 1723, which is worth giving 
as a contrast to present conditions. 

The traveller was no less notable a personage than 
Benjamin Franklin, who, much to the after-advan- 
tage of the Quaker City, had run away from too 
severe an apprenticeship in Boston, failed to obtain 
emplojmient in I^ew York, and learned that work 
might be had in Philadelphia. The story of how he 
came thither cannot be told better than in his own 
homely language, so we will suffer him to speak for 
himself. 

" Philadelphia was one hundred miles farther; I 
set out, however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my 
chest and things to follow me round by sea. In 
crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore our 

8* 89 



90 HISTORICAL TALES. 

rotten sail to pieces, prevented our getting into the 
Kill, and drove us ujDon Long Island. In our way 
a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, 
fell overboard; when he was sinking, I reached 
through the water to his shock pate and drew him 
up, so that we got him in again. His ducking so- 
bered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first 
out of his pocket a book, which he desired I would 
dry for him." 

The book proved to be the " Pilgrim's Progress," 
in Dutch, well printed, and with copper-plate illus- 
trations, a fact which greatly interested the book- 
loving traveller. 

" On approaching the island, we found it was a 
place where there could be no landing, there being 
a great surge on the stony beach. So we dropped 
anchor, and swung out our cable towards the shore. 
Some people came down to the shore, and hallooed 
to us, as we did to them ; but the wind was so high, 
and the surge so loud, that we could not understand 
each other. There were some small boats near the 
shore, and we made signs, and called to them to 
fetch us ; but they either did not comprehend us, or 
it was impracticable, so they went off. 

"Night approaching, we had no remedy but to 
have patience till the wind abated, and in the mean 
time the boatman and myself concluded to sleep, if 
we could ; and so we crowded into the hatches, where 
we joined the Dutchman, who was still wet, and the 
spray, breaking over the head of our boat, leaked 
through to us, so that we were soon almost as wet 
as he. In this manner we lay all night, with very 



HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO PHILADELPHIA. 91 

little rest; but the wind abating the next day. we 
made a shift to reach Amboy before night, having 
been thirty hours on the water, without victuals, or 
any drink but a bottle of filthy rum, the water we 
sailed on being salt." 

The story seems hard to credit. The travellers 
had already spent fifteen times the period it now 
takes to make the complete journey, and were but 
fiiirly started ; while they had experienced almost 
as much hardship as though they were wrecked 
mariners, cast upon a desolate coast. The remainder 
of the journey was no less wearisome. The traveller 
thus continues his narrative : 

" In the evening I found myself very feverish, 
and went to bed ; but having read somewhere that 
cold water drunk plentifully was good for a fever, I 
followed the prescription, and sweat plentifully most 
of the night. My fever left me, and in the morning, 
crossing the ferry, I proceeded on my journey on 
foot, having fifty miles to go to Burlington, where I 
was told I should find boats that would carry me the 
rest of the way to Philadelphia. 

"It rained very hard all the day; I was thor- 
oughly soaked, and by noon a good deal tired ; so I 
stopped at a poor inn, where I stayed all night, be- 
ginning now to wish I had never left home. I made 
BO miserable a figure, too, that I found, by the ques- 
tions asked me, I was suspected to be some runaway 
indentured servant, and in danger of being taken up 
on that suspicion. However, I proceeded next day, 
and in the evening got to an inn, within eight or 
ten miles of Burlington, kept by one Dr. Brown. 



92 HISTORICAL TALES. 

He entered into conversation with me while I took 
some refreshment, and, finding I had read a little, 
became very obliging and friendly. Our acquaintance 
continued all the rest of his life. He had been, I 
imagine, an ambulatory quack doctor, for there was 
no town in England, nor any country in Europe, of 
which he could not give a very particular account. 
He had some letters, and was ingenious, but he was 
an infidel, and wickedly undertook, some years after, 
to turn the Bible into doggerel verse, as Cotton had 
formerly done with Yirgil. By this means he set 
many facts in a ridiculous light, and might have 
done mischief with weak minds if his work had 
been published, but it never was. 

" At his house I lay that night, and arrived the 
next morning at Burlington, but had the mortifica- 
tion to find that the regular boats were gone a little 
before, and no other expected to go before Tuesday, 
this being Saturday, wherefore I returned to an old 
woman in the town, of whom I had bought some 
gingerbread to eat on the water, and asked her ad- 
vice. She proposed to lodge me till a passage by 
some other boat occurred. I accepted her offer, 
being much fatigued by travelling on foot. Under- 
standing I was a printer, she would have had me 
remain in that town and follow my business, being 
ignorant what stock was necessary to begin with. 
She was very hospitable, gave me a dinner of ox- 
cheek with great good-will, accepting only of a pot 
of ale in return ; and I thought myself fixed till 
Tuesday should come. 

" However, walking in the evening by the side of 



HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO PHILADELPHIA. 93 

the river, a boat came by which I found was going 
towards Philadelphia, with several people in her. 
They took me in, and, as there was no wind, we 
rowed all the way ; and about midnight, not having 
yet seen the city, some of the company were confi- 
dent we must have passed it, and would row no 
farther ; the others knew not where we were ; so 
we put towards the shore, got into a creek, landed 
near an old fence, with the rails of which we made 
a fire, the night being cold, in October, and there 
we remained till daylight. Then one of the com- 
pany knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little 
above Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got 
out of the creek, and arrived there about eight or 
nine o'clock on the Sunday morning, and landed at 
Market Street wharf." 

The closing portion of this naive narrative is as 
interesting in its way as the opening. The idea that 
Philadelphia could be passed in the darkness and 
not discovered seems almost ludicrous when we con- 
sider its present many miles of river front, and the 
long-drawn-out glow of illumination which it casts 
across the stream. JSTothing could be more indicative 
of its village-like condition at the time of Franklin's 
arrival, and its enormous growth since. Nor are the 
incidents and conditions of the journey less striking. 
The traveller, making the best time jDossible to him, 
had been nearly five full days on the way, and had 
experienced a succession of hardships which would 
have thrown many men into a sick-bed at the end. 
It took youth, health, and energy to accomplish the 
difficult passage from New York to Philadelphia in 



94 HISTORICAL TALES. 

that day ; a journey which we now make between 
breakfast and dinner, with considerable time for 
business in the interval. Yerily, the world moves. 
But to return to our traveller's story. 

" I have been the more particular in this descrip- 
tion of my journey, and shall be so of my first entry 
into that city, that you may in your mind compare 
such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since 
made there. I was in my working-dress, my best 
clothes coming round by sea. I was dirty from 
my being so long in the boat. My pockets were 
stufi'ed out with shirts and stockings, and I knew no 
one, nor where to look for lodging. Fatigued with 
walking, rowing, and the want of sleep, I was very 
hungry ; and my whole stock of cash consisted in a 
single dollar, and about a shilling in copper coin, 
which I gave to the boatmen for my passage. At 
first they refused it, on account of my having rowed, 
but I insisted on their taking it. Man is sometimes 
more generous when he has little money than when 
he has plenty ; perhaps to prevent his being thought 
to have but little. 

" I walked towards the top of the street, gazing 
about till near Market Street, where I met a boy 
with bread. I had often made a meal of dry bread, 
and, inquiring where he had bought it, I went im- 
mediately to the baker's he directed me to. I asked 
for biscuits, meaning such as we had at Boston; 
that sort, it seems, was not made in Philadelphia. 
I then asked for a three-penny loaf, and was told 
they had none. Not knowing the different prices, 
nor the names of the different sorts of bread, I told 



HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO PHILADELPHIA. 95 

him to give me three penny-worth of any sort. 
He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. 
I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and 
having no room in my pockets, walked off with a 
roll under each arm, and eating the other. 

" Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth 
Street, passing by the door of Mr. Eead, my future 
wife's father, when she, standing at the door, saw 
me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most 
awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned 
and went down Chestnut Street, and part of Walnut 
Street, eating my roll all the way, and, coming 
round, found myself again at Market Street wharf, 
near the boat I came in, to which I went for a 
draught of the river- water, and, being filled with 
one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman and 
her child that came down the river in the boat with 
us, and were waiting to go farther. 

" Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, 
which by this time had many cleanly-dressed people 
in it, who were all walking the same way. I joined 
them, and was thereby led into the great meeting- 
house of the Quakers, near the market. I sat down 
among them, and, after looking round a while and 
hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through 
labor and want of rest the preceding night, I fell 
fast asleep, and continued so till the meeting broke 
up, when some one was kind enough to arouse me. 
This, therefore, was the first house I was in, or slept 
in, in Philadelphia." 

There is nothing more simple, homely, and attrac- 
tive in literature than Franklin's autobiographical 



D6 HISTORICAL TALES. 

account of the first period of his life, of which we 
have transcribed a portion, nor nothing more indic- 
ative of the great changes which time has produced 
in the conditions of this country, and which it pro- 
duced in the Ufe of our author. As for his journey 
from New York to Philadelphia, it presents, for the 
time involved, as great a series of adventures and 
hardships as does Stanley's recent journey through 
Central Africa. And as regards his own history, the 
contrast between the Franklin of 1723 and 1783 was 
as great as that which has come upon the city of his 
adoption. There is something amusingly ludicrous 
in the picture of the great Franklin, soiled with 
travel, a dollar in his pocket representing his entire 
wealth, walking up Market Street with two great 
rolls of bread under his arms and gnawing hungrily 
at a third ; while his future wife peers from her 
door, and laughs to herself at this awkward youth, 
who looked as if he had never set foot on city street 
before. 

"We can hardly imagine this to be the Franklin 
who afterwards became the associate of the great 
and the admired of nations, who argued the cause 
of America before the assembled notables of England, 
who played a leading part in the formation of the 
Constitution of the United States, and to whom 
Philadelphia owes several of its most thriving and 
useful institutions. Millions of people have since 
poured into the City of Brotherly Love, but cer- 
tainly no other journey thither has been nearly so 
momentous in its consequences as the humble one 
above described. 



THE PERILS OF THE WILDER^ 
NESS. 

On the 31st day of October, in the year 1753, a 
young man, whose name was as yet unknown outside 
the colony of "Virginia, though it was destined to 
attain world-wide fame, set out from Williamsburg, 
in that colony, on a momentous errand. It was the 
first step taken in a series of events which were to 
end in driving the French from North America, and 
placing this great realm under English control, — the 
opening movement in the memorable French and 
Indian War. The name of the young man was 
George Washington. His age was twenty-one years. 
He began thus, in his earliest manhood, that work in 
the service of his country which was to continue until 
the end. 

The enterprise before the young Yirginian was one 
that needed the energies of youth and the unyielding 
perseverance of an indefatigable spirit. A wilder- 
ness extended far and wide before bim,j)artly broken 
in Virginia, but farther on untouched by the hand of 
civilization. Much of his route lay over rugged moun- 
tains, pathless save by the narrow and difficult Indian 
trails. The whole distance to be traversed was not 
less than five hundred and sixty miles, with an equal 
i.~K g 9 97 



98 HISTORICAL TALES. 

distance to return. The season was winter. It was 
a task calculated to try the powers and test the en- 
durance of the strongest and most energetic man. 

The contest between France and England for Amer- 
ican soil was about to begin. Hitherto the colonists 
of these nations had kept far asunder, — the French in 
Canada and on the great lakes ; the English on the At- 
lantic coast. Now the English were feehng their way 
westward, the French southward, — lines of move- 
ment which would touch each other on the Ohio. 
The touch, when made, was sure to be a hostile one. 

England had estabUshed an " Ohio Company," — 
ostensibly for trade, really for conquest. The French 
had built forts, — one at Presque Isle, on Lake Erie ; 
one on French Creek, near its head-waters ; a third 
at the junction of French Creek with the Alleghany. 
This was a bold push inland. They had done more 
than this. A party of French and Indians had made 
their way as far as the point where Pittsburgh now 
stands. Here they found some English traders, took 
them prisoners, and conveyed them to Presque Isle. 
In response to this, some French traders were seized 
by the Twightwee Indians, a tribe friendly to the 
English, and sent to Pennsylvania. The touch had 
taken place, and it was a hostile one. 

Major Washington — he had been a Virginian adju- 
tant-general, with the rank of major, since the age 
of nineteen — was chosen for the next step, that of 
visiting the French forts and demanding the with- 
drawal of their garrisons from what was claimed to 
be English ten-itory. The mission was a delicate 
one. It demanded courage, discretion, and energy. 



THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS. 99 

Washington had them all. 'No better choice could 
have been made than of this young officer of militia. 

The youthful pioneer proceeded alone as far as 
Fredericksburg. Here he engaged two companions, 
one as French, the other as Indian, interpreter, and 
proceeded. CiviKzation had touched the region before 
him, but not subdued it. At the junction of Will's 
Creek with the Potomac (now Cumberland, Mary- 
land), he reached the extreme outpost of civilization. 
Before him stretched more than four hundred miles 
of unbroken wilderness. The snow-covered Allegha- 
nies were just in advance. The chill of the coming 
winter already was making itself felt. Recent rains 
had swollen the streams. They could be crossed only 
on log-rafts, or by the more primitive methods of 
wading or swimming, — expedients none too agreeable 
in freezing weather. But youth and a lofty spirit 
halt not for obstacles. Washington pushed on. 

At Mill's Creek he added to his party. Here he 
was joined by Mr. Gist, an experienced frontiersman, 
who knew well the ways of the wilderness, and by 
four other persons, two of them Indian traders. On 
November 14 the journey was resumed. Hardships 
now surrounded the little party of adventurers. 
Miles of rough mountain had to be climbed ; streams, 
swollen to their limits, to be crossed ; unbroken and 
interminable forests to be traversed. Day after day 
they pressed onward, through difficulties that would 
have deterred all but the hardiest and most vigorous 
of men. In ten days they had accomplished an im- 
portant section of their journey, and reached those 
forks of the Ohio which were afterwards to attain 



100 HISTORICAL TALES. 

such celebrity both in war and peace, — as the site of 
Fort Duquesne and of the subsequent city of Pitts- 
burgh. 

Twenty miles farther on the Indian settlement of 
Logstown was reached. Here Washington called the 
Indian chiefs together in conference. The leading 
chief was known as Tanacharison (Half-King), an 
Indian patriot, who had been much disturbed by the 
French and English incursions. He had been to the 
French forts. What he had said to their command- 
ers is curious, and worthy of being quoted : 

" Fathers, I am come to tell you your own speeches ; 
what your own mouths have declared. Fathers, you 
in former days set a silver basin before us, wherein 
was the leg of a beaver, and desired all the nations 
to come and eat of it, — to eat in peace and plenty, 
and not to be churlish to one another ; and that, if 
any person should be found to be a disturber, I here 
lay down by the edge of the dish a rod, which you 
must scourge them with ; and if your father should 
get foolish in my old days, I desire you may use it 
upon me as well as others. Now, fathers, it is you 
who are the disturbers in this land, by coming and 
building your towns, and taking it away unknown to 
us, and by force. . . . 

" Fathers, I desire you may hear me in civilness ; 
if not, we must handle that rod which was laid down 
for the use of the obstreperous. . . . Fathers, both 
you and the English are white ; we live in a country 
between ; therefore, the land belongs to neither one 
nor the other. The Great Being above allowed it to 
be a place of residence for us ; so, fathers, I desire 



THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS. 101 

you to withdraw, as I have done our brothers the 
English : for I will keep you at arms' length. I lay 
this down as a trial for both, to see which will have 
the greatest regard for it, and that side we will stand 
by, and make equal sharers with us. Our brothers, 
the English, have heard this, and I now come to tell 
it to you ; for I am not afraid to discharge you off 
this land." 

The poor Half-King was to find that he had under- 
taken a task like that of discharging the wolves out 
of the sheep-cote. The French heard his protest 
with contempt, and went on building their forts. He 
thereupon turned to the English, whom he, in the 
simplicity of his heart, imagined had no purpose save 
that of peaceful trade. His " fathers" had contemned 
him ; to his " brothers" he turned in amity. 

Washington told his purposes to his dusky audi- 
tors. He had come to warn the French intruders 
off the Indian lands. He desired a guide to conduct 
him to the French fort, one hundred and twenty 
miles distant. His statement pleased the Indians. 
Their English " brothers" were in sympathy with 
them. They would help them to recover their lands. 
The generosity of their white brothers must have 
seemed highly meritorious to the simple savages. 
They had yet to learn that the French and the Eng- 
lish were the two millstones, and they and their 
lands the corn to be ground between. 

The Half-King, with two other chiefs (Jeskakake 
and White Thunder by name), volunteered to guide 
the whites. A hunter of noted skill also joined 
them. Once more the expedition set out. The 

9* 



102 HISTORICAL TALES. 

journey was a terrible one. Winter had set in; 
rain and snow fell almost unceasingly; the forest 
was next to impassable ; great were their toils, severe 
their hardships. On December 5 they reached the 
French outpost at Yenango (now Franklin), where 
French Creek joins the Alleghany. Here they were 
met by Captain Joucaire, the French commandant, 
with a promising show of civility. Secretly, how- 
ever, the astute Frenchman sought to rob Washing- 
ton of his Indians. Fortunately, the aborigines 
knew the French too well to be cajoled, and were 
ready to accompany Washington when he set out on 
his remaining journey. Their route now led up 
French Creek to Fort Le Boeuf, on the head- waters 
of that stream. This they reached on the 12th, after 
a wearisome experience of frontier travel. Forty-one 
days had passed since Washington left Williamsburg. 

The commandant here was M. de St. Pierre, an 
elderly man, of courteous manners, a knight of the 
order of St. Louis. He received Washington cor- 
dially, treated him with every hosj)itality while in 
the fort, did everything except to comply with Gov- 
ernor Dinwiddle's order to leave the works. 

Washington's instructions were conveyed in a let- 
ter from the governor of Virginia, which asserted 
that the lands of the Ohio and its tributaries be- 
longed to England, declared that the French move- 
ments were encroachments, asked by whose authority 
an armed force had crossed the lakes, and demanded 
their speedy departure from English territory. 

St. Pierre's reply was given in a sealed letter. It 
declared that he was a soldier, his duty being to obey 



THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS. 103 

orders, not to discuss treaties. He was there under 
instructions from the governor of Canada. There 
he meant to stay. Such was the purport of the 
communication. The tone was courteous, but in it 
was no shadow of turning. 

While the Frenchman was using the pen, Wash- 
ington was using his eyes. He went away with an 
accurate mental picture of the fort, its form, size, 
construction, location, and the details of its arma- 
ment. His men counted the canoes in the river. 
The fort lay about fifteen miles south of Lake Erie. 
A plan of it, drawn by Washington, was sent to 
England. 

At the time fixed for their return, Washington 
found the snow falling so fast that he decided to 
make his journey to Yenango by canoe, the horses, 
which they had used in the outward journey, being 
forwarded through the forest with their baggage. 
St. Pierre was civil to the last. He was as hospitable 
as polite. The canoe was plentifully stocked with 
provisions and liquors. But secretly artifices were 
practised to lure away the Indians. The Half-King 
was a man whose friendship was worth bidding for. 
Promises were made, presents were given, the In- 
dians were offered every advantage of friendship 
and trade. 

But the Half-King was not to be placated by fine 
words. He knew the French. Delay was occa- 
sioned, however, of which Washington complained, 
and hinted at the cause. 

" You are certainly mistaken. Major Washington," 
declared the polite Frenchman. "Nothing of the 



104 HISTORICAL TALES. 

kind has come to my knowledge. I really cannot 
tell why the Indians delay. They are naturally 
inclined to procrastinate, you know. Certainly, 
everything shall be done on my part to get you off 
in good time." 

Finally, the Indians proving immovable in their 
decision, the party got off. The journey before them 
was no pleasure one, even with the advantage of a 
water-route, and a canoe as a vehicle of travel. 
Eocks and drifting trees obstructed the channel. 
Here were shallows ; there, dangerous currents. 
The passage was slow and wearisome, and not with- 
out its perils. 

" Many times," says Washington, " all hands were 
obliged to get out, and remain in the water half an 
hour or more in getting over the shoals. At one 
place the ice had lodged and made it impassable by 
water, and we were obliged to carry our canoe 
across a neck of land a quarter of a mile over." 

In six days they reached Yenango, having jour- 
neyed one hundred and thirty miles by the course 
of the stream. The horses had preceded them, but 
had reached the fort in so pitiable a condition as to 
render them hardly fit to carry the baggage and 
provisions. Washington, Mr. Gist, and Mr. Yan- 
braam, the French interpreter, clad in Indian walk- 
ing-costume, proceeded on foot, the horses following 
with their drivers. After three days' journey the 
poor animals had become so feeble, the snow so 
deep, the cold so severe, that Washington and Gist 
determined to push forward alone, leaving Mr. Yan- 
braam as leader of the remainder of the party. 



I 



THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS. 105 

Gun in hand, and knapsack — containing his food 
and papers — on back, the intrepid explorer pushed 
forward with his companion, who was similarly 
equipped. Leaving the path they had been follow- 
ing, they struck into a straight trail through the 
woods, purposing to reach the Alleghany a few 
miles above the Ohio. 

The journey proved an adventurous one. They 
met an Indian, who agreed to go with them and 
show them the nearest way. Ten or twelve miles 
were traversed, at the end of which Washington 
grew very foot-sore and weary. The Indian had 
carried his knapsack, and now wished to reheve him 
of his gun. This Washington refused, whereupon 
the savage grew surly. He pressed them to keep 
on, however, saying that there were Ottawa Indians 
in the forest, who might discover and scalp them if 
they lay out at night. By going on they would 
reach his cabin and be safe. 

They advanced several miles farther. Then the 
Indian, who had fallen behind them, suddenly stopped. 
On looking back they perceived that he had raised 
his gun, and was aiming at them. The next instant 
the piece was discharged. 

" Are you shot ?" cried Washington. 

"No," answered Gist. 

" After this fellow, then." 

The Indian had run to the shelter of a large white 
oak, behind which he was loading as fast as possible. 
The others were quickly upon him, Gist with his 
gun at his shoulder. 

"Do not shoot," said Washington. "We had 



106 HISTORICAL TALES. 

best not kill the man, but we must take care of 
him." 

The savage was permitted to finish his loading, 
even to putting in a ball, but his companions took 
good heed to give him no further opportunity to 
play the traitor. At a little run which they soon 
reached they bade the Indian to make a fire, on 
pretence that they would sleep there. They had no 
such intention, however. 

" As you will not have him killed," said Gist, " we 
must get him away, and then we must travel all 
night." 

Gist turned to the Indian. " I suppose you were 
lost, and fired your gun," he said, with a transparent 
affectation of innocence. 

"I know the way to my cabin," replied the In- 
dian. " It is not far away." 

" Well, then, do you go home. We are tired, but 
will follow your track in the morning. Here is a 
cake of bread for you, and you must give us meat in 
the morning." 

The savage was glad enough to get away. Gist 
followed and listened, that he might not steal back 
on them. Then they went half a mile farther, where 
they made a fire, set their compass, and, after a short 
period of rest, took to the route again and travelled 
all night. 

The next night they reached the Alleghany. Here 
they were destined to experience a dangerous adven- 
ture. They had expected to cross on the ice, but 
the river proved to be frozen only for a short distance 
from the shores. That night they slept with the 



1 

II 



THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS. 107 

snow for a bed, their blankets for a covering. When 
dawn appeared the same dubious prospect confronted 
them. The current of the river still swept past, 
loaded with broken ice. 

" There is nothing for it but a raft," said Wash- 
ington. " And we have but one hatchet to aid us in 
making it. Let us to work." 

To work they fell, but it was sunset before the 
raft was completed. 'Not caring to spend another 
night where they were, they launched the raft and 
pushed from shore. It proved a perilous journey. 
Before the stream was half crossed they were so 
jammed in the floating ice that it seemed every mo- 
ment as if their frail support would sink, and they 
perish in the swift current. Washington tried with 
his setting-pole to stop the raft and let the ice run 
by. His efi'ort ended unfortunately. Such was the 
strength of the current that the ice was driven 
against the pole with a violence that swept him from 
his feet and hurled him into water ten feet deep. 
Only that chance which seems the work of destiny 
saved him. He fell near enough to the raft to seize 
one of its logs, and after a sharp scramble was up 
again, though dripping with icy water. They con- 
tinued their efforts, but failed to reach either shore, 
and in the end they were obHged to spring from 
their weak support to an island, past which the cur- 
rent was sweeping the raft. 

The escape was almost hke the proverbial one 
" from the frying-pan to the fire." The island was 
destitute of shelter. As the night advanced the air 
grew colder, and the adventurers suffered severely. 



108 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Mr. Gist had his hands and feet frozen, — a disaster 
which Washington, despite his wetting, fortunately 
escaped. The morning dawned at length. Hope 
returned to their hearts. The cold of the night had 
done one service, it had frozen the water between the 
island and the eastern bank of the stream. The ice 
bore their weight. They crossed in safety, and the 
same day reached a trading-post, recently formed, 
near the ground subsequently to be celebrated as 
that of Braddock's defeat. 

Here they rested two or three days. Gist recovering 
from the effects of his freezing, Washington im- 
proving the opportunity to pay a visit to Queen Ali- 
quippi, an Indian princess, whose palace — if we may 
venture to call it so — was near by. The royal lady 
had been angry that he had neglected her on his 
way out. This visit, an apology, and a present 
healed her wounded feelings, and disposed her to a 
gracious reception. 

E"othing could be learned of Yanbraam and the 
remainder of the party. Washington could not wait 
for them. He hurried forward with Gist, crossed 
the Alleghanies to Will's Creek, and, leaving his 
companion there, hastened onward to Williamsburg, 
anxious to put his despatches in Governor Dinwiddle's 
hands. He reached there on January 16, having 
been absent eleven weeks, during which he had 
traversed a distance of eleven hundred miles. 

What followed is matter of common history. Din- 
widdle was incensed at St. Pierre's letter. The 
French had come to stay; that was plain. If the 
EngUsh wanted a footing in the land they must be 



THE PERILS OP THE WILDERNESS. 109 

on the alert. A party was quickly sent to the Ohio 
forks to build a fort, Washington having suggested 
this as a suitable plan. But hardly was this fort 
begun before it was captured by the French, who 
hastened to erect one for themselves on the spot. 

Washington, advancing with a supporting force, 
met a French detachment in the woods, which he 
attacked and defeated. It was the opening contest 
of the French and Indian War. 

As for Fort Duquesne, which the French had 
built, it gave rise to the most disastrous event of the 
war, the defeat of General Braddock and his army, 
on their march to capture it. It continued in French 
hands till near the end of the war, its final capture 
by Washington being nearly the closing event in the 
contest which wrested from the hands of the French 
all their possessions on the American continent. 



SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR 
PUTNAM. 

The vicinity of the mountain-girdled, island-dotted, 
tourist-inviting Lake George has perhaps been the 
scene of more of the romance of war than any other 
locality that could be named. Fort Ticonderoga, on 
the ridge between that beautiful sheet of water and 
Lake Champlain, is a point vital with stirring mem- 
ories, among which the striking exploit of Ethan 
Allen and his Green Mountain boys is of imperishable 
interest. Fort Wilham Henry, at the lower end of 
Lake George, is memorable as the locality of one of 
the most nerve-shaking examples of Indian treachery 
and barbarity, a scene which Cooper's fruitful pen 
has brought well within the kingdom of romance. 
The history of the whole vicinity, in short, is laden 
with picturesque incident, and the details of fact 
never approached those of romantic fiction more 
closely than in the annals of this interesting region. 

Israel Putnam, best known to us as one of the most 
daring heroes of the Eevolution, began here his 
career, in the French and Indian War, as scout and 
ranger, and of no American frontiersman can a more 
exciting series of adventures be told. Some of these 
adventures it is our purpose here to give. 
110 



SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM. Ill 

After the Fort William Henry massacre, the Ameri- 
can forces were concentrated in Fort Edward, on the 
head-waters of the Hudson ; Putnam, with his corps 
of Eangers, occupying an outpost station, on a small 
island near the fort. Fearing a hostile visit from 
the victorious French, the commander. General Ly- 
man, made all haste to strengthen his defences, send- 
ing a party of a hundred and fifty men into the 
neighboring forest to cut timber for that purpose 
Captain Little, with fifty British regulars, was depu- 
tized to protect these men at their labors. This 
supporting party was posted on a narrow ridge lead- 
ing to the fort, with a morass on one side, a creek on 
the other, and the forest in front. 

One morning, at daybreak, a sentinel who stood 
on the edge of the morass, overlooking the dense 
thicket which filled its depths, was surprised at what 
seemed to him, in the hazy light, a flight of strange 
birds coming from the leafy hollow. One after 
another of these winged objects passed over his head. 
After he had observed them a moment or two, he 
saw one of them strike a neighboring tree, and cling 
quivering to its trunk. A glance was enough for the 
drowsy sentinel. He was suddenly wide awake, and 
his musket and voice rang instant alarm, for the 
bird which he had seen was a winged Indian arrow. 
He had been made a target for ambushed savages, 
eager to pick him off without alarming the party 
which he guarded. 

A large force of Indians had crept into the morass 
during the night, with the hope of cutting off the 
laborers and the party of support. The sentinel's 



112 HISTORICAL TALES. 

alarm shot unmasked them. Whooping like discov- 
ered fiends, they flew from their covert upon the un- 
armed laborers, shot and tomahawked those within 
reach, and sent the others in panic flight to the fort. 
Captain Little and his band flew to the rescue, and 
checked the pursuit of the savages by hasty volleys, 
but soon found themselves so pressed by superior 
numbers that the whole party was in danger of being 
surrounded and slain. 

In this extremity Captain Little sent a messenger 
to General Lyman, imploring instant aid. He failed 
to obtain it. The over-cautious commander, filled 
with the idea that the whole French and Indian 
army was at hand, drew in his outposts with nervous 
haste, shut the gates of the fort, and left the little 
band to its fate. 

Fortunately, the volleys of musketry had reached 
the ears of Major Putnam, on his island outpost. 
Immediately afterwards his scouts brought him word 
that Captain Little was surrounded by Indians, and 
in imminent danger of destruction. Without an 
instant's hesitation the brave Putnam plunged into 
the water, shouting to his men to follow him, and 
waded to the shore. This reached, they dashed 
hastily towards the scene of the contest. Their 
route led them past the walls of the fort, on whose 
parapets stood the alarmed commander. 

"Halt!" cried General Lyman. "Come into the 
fort. The enemy is in overwhelming force. We can 
spare no more men." 

To these words, or similar ones, spoken by Gen- 
eral Lyman, Putnam returned a vague reply, in- 



SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM. 113 

tended for an apology, but having more the tone of 
a defiance. Discipline and military authority must 
stand aside when brave men were struggling with 
ruthless savages. Without waiting to hear the gen- 
eral's response to his apology, the gallant partisan 
dashed on, and in a minute or two more had joined 
the party of regulars, who were holding their ground 
with difiiculty. 

" On them !" cried Putnam. " They will shoot us 
down here ! Forward ! We must rout them out 
from their ambush !" 

His words found a responsive echo in every heart. 
With loud shouts the whole party charged impetu- 
ously into the morass, and in a minute were face to 
face with the concealed savages. This sudden on- 
slaught threw the Indians into a panic. They broke 
and fled in every direction, hotly pursued by their 
revengeful foes, numbers of them being killed in the 
flight. The chase was not given up until it had ex- 
tended miles into the forest. 

Triumphantly then the victors returned to the 
fort, Putnam alone among them expecting repri- 
mand. He had never before disobeyed the orders 
of his superior. He well knew the rigidity of mili- 
tary discipline and its necessity. Possibly General 
Lyman might not be content with a simple repri- 
mand, but might order a court-martial. Putnam 
entered the fort, not fully at ease in his mind. 

As it proved, he had no occasion for anxiety. The 
general recognized that alarm had led him too far. 
He welcomed the whole party with hearty commen- 
dation, and chose quite to forget the fact that Major 
i.—h 10* 



114 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Putnam was guilty of a flagrant disregard of orders, 
in view of the fact, of more immediate importance 
to himself, that his daring subaltern had saved him 
from public reprobation for exposing a brave party 
to destruction. 

It was not long after this scene that Putnam took 
the leading part in another memorable affair, in 
which his promptitude, energy, and decision have 
become historical. The barracks within the fort 
took fire. Twelve feet from them stood the maga- 
zine, containing three hundred barrels of powder. 
The fort and its defenders were in imminent danger 
of being blown to atoms. Putnam, who still occu- 
pied his island outpost, saw the smoke and flames 
rising, and hastened with all speed to the fort. 
When he reached there the barracks appeared to be 
doomed, and the flames were rapidly approaching 
the magazine. As for the garrison, it was almost in 
a state of panic, and next to nothing was being done 
to avert the danger. 

A glance was sufficient for the prompt and ener- 
getic mind of the daring ranger. In a minute's 
time he had organized a line of soldiers, leading 
through a postern-gate to the river, and each one 
bearing a bucket. The energetic major mounted a 
ladder, received the water as it came, and poured 
it into the flaming building. The heat was in- 
tense, the smoke suffocating ; so near were the 
flames that a pair of thick mittens were quickly 
burned from his hands. Calling for another pair, 
he dipped them into the water and continued his 
work. 



SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM. 115 

" Come down !" cried Colonel Haviland. " It is too 
dangerous there. We must try other means." 

" There are no means but to fight the enemy inch 
by inch," replied Putnam. "A moment's yielding 
on our part may prove fatal." 

His cool intrepidity gave new courage to the colo- 
nel, who exclaimed, as he urged the others to re- 
newed exertions, — 

" If we must be blown up, we will all go together." 

Despite Putnam's heroic efforts, the flames spread. 
Soon the whole barracks were enveloped, and lurid 
tongues of fire began to shoot out alarmingly to- 
wards the magazine. Putnam now descended, took 
his station between the two buildings, and continued 
his active service, his energy and audacity giving 
new Hfe and activity to officers and men. The out- 
side planks of the magazine caught. They were 
consumed. Only a thin timber partition remained 
between the flames and fifteen tons of powder. This, 
too, was charred and smoking. Destruction seemed 
inevitable. The consternation was extreme. 

But there, in the scorching heat of the flames, 
covered with falling cinders, threatened with instant 
death, stood the undaunted Putnam, still pouring 
water on the smoking timbers, still calling to the 
men to keep steadily to their work. And thus he 
continued till the rafters of the barracks fell in, the 
heat decreased, and the safety of the magazine was 
insured. 

For an hour and a half he had fought the flames. 
His hands, face, almost his whole body, were scorched 
and blistered. When he pulled off his second pair 



116 HISTORICAL TALES. 

of mittens the skin came with them. Several weeks 
passed before he recovered from the effects of his 
hard battle with fire. But he had the reward of 
success, and the earnest thanks and kind attentions 
of officers and men ahke, who felt that to him alone 
they owed the safety of the fort, and the escape of 
many, if not all, of the garrison from destruction. 

Among Butnam's many adventures, there are two 
others which have often been told, but are worthy 
of repetition. On one occasion he was surprised by 
a large party of Indians, when with a few men in a 
boat at the head of the rapids of the Hudson, at 
Fort Miller. It was a frightfully perilous situation. 
To stay where he was, was to be slaughtered ; to 
attempt crossing the stream would bring him under 
the Indian fire ; to go down the falls promised in- 
stant death. Which expedient should he adopt ? 
He chose the latter, preferring to risk death from 
water rather than from tomahawk or bullet. 

The boat was pushed from the shore and exposed 
to the full force of the current. In a minute or 
two it had swept beyond the range of the Indian 
weapons. But death seemed inevitable. The water 
rushed on in foaming torrents, whirling round rocks, 
sweeping over shelves, pouring down in abrupt falls, 
shooting onward with the wildest fury. It seemed 
as if only a miracle could save the voyagers. 

Yet with unyielding coolness Putnam grasped the 
helm ; while his keen eye scanned the peril ahead, his 
quick hand met every danger as it came. Inces- 
santly the course of the boat was changed, to avoid 
the protruding rocks. Here it was tossed on the 



SOME ADVENTURES OP MAJOR PUTNAM. 117 

billows, there it shot down inclined reaches, now it 
seemed plunging into a boiling eddy, now it whirled 
round a threatening obstacle ; like a leaf in the 
tempest it was borne onward, and at length, to the 
amazement of its inmates themselves, and the as- 
toundment of the Indians, it floated safely on the 
smooth waters below, after a passage of perils such 
as have rarely been dared. The savages gave up 
the chase. A man who could safely run those rapids 
seemed to them to bear a charmed life. 

The other story mentioned is one indicative of 
Putnam's wit and readiness. The army was now 
encamped in the forest, in a locality to the eastward 
of Lake George. While here, the Indians prowled 
through the woods around it, committing depreda- 
tions here and there, picking off sentinels, and doing 
other mischief. They seemed to have impunity in 
this work, and defied the utmost efforts at discovery. 
One outpost in particular was the seat of a dread 
mystery. Night after night the sentinel at this 
post disappeared, and was not heard of again. Some 
of the bravest men of the army Avere selected to 
occupy the post, with orders, if they should hear 
any noise, to call out " Who goes there ?" three times, 
and if no answer came, to fire. Yet the mysterious 
disappearances continued, until the men refused to 
accept so dangerous a post. The commander was 
about to draw a sentinel by lot, when Major Putnam 
solved the difficulty by offering to stand guard for 
the coming night. The puzzled commander promptly 
accepted his offer, instructing him, as he had done 
the others, — 



118 HISTORICAL TALES. 

" If you hear any sound from without the lines, 
you will call 'Who goes there?' three times, and 
then, if no answer be given, fire." 

Putnam promised to obey, and marched to his 
post. Here he examined the surrounding locality 
with the utmost care, fixed in his mind the position 
of every point in the neighborhood, saw that his 
musket was in good order, and began his monot- 
onous tramp, backward and forward. 

For several hours all remained silent, save for the 
ordinary noises of the woodland. At length, near 
midnight, a slight rustling sound met his keen ears. 
He listened intently. Some animal appeared to be 
stealthily approaching. Then there came a crack- 
ling sound, as of a hog munching acorns. Putnam's 
previous observation of the locality enabled him to 
judge very closely the position of this creature, 
and he was too familiar with Indian artifices, and 
too sensible of the danger of his position, to let even 
a hog pass unchallenged. Raising his musket to his 
shoulder, and taking deliberate aim at the spot indi- 
cated, he called out, in strict obedience to orders, 
" Who goes there ? three times," and instantly pulled 
the trigger. 

A loud groaning and struggling noise followed. 
Putnam quickly reloaded and ran forward to the 
spot. Here he found what seemed a large bear, 
struggling in the agony of death. But a moment's 
observation showed the wide-awake sentinel that 
the seeming bear was really a gigantic Indian, en- 
closed in a bear-skin, in which, disguised, he had been 
able to approach and shoot the preceding sentinels. 



I 



SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM. 119 

Putnam bad solved the mystery of the solitary post. 
The sentinels on that outpost ceased, from that 
moment, to be disturbed. 

Numerous other adventures of Major Putnam, and 
encounters with the Indians and the French rangers, 
might be recounted, but we must content ourselves 
with the narrative of one which ended in the cap- 
tivity of our hero, and his very narrow escape from 
death in more than one form. As an illustration of 
the barbarity of Indian warfare it cannot but prove 
of interest. 

It was the month of August, 1758. A train of 
baggage-wagons had been cut oif by the enemy's 
rangers. Majors Putnam and Eogers, with eight 
hundred men, were despatched to intercept the foe, 
retake the spoils, and punish them for their daring. 
The effort proved fruitless. The enemy had taken 
to their canoes and escaped before their pursuers 
could overtake them. 

Failing in this expedition, they camped out on 
Wood Creek and South Bay, with the hope of cut- 
ting off some straggling party of the enemy. Here 
they were discovered by French scouts, and, having 
reason to fear an attack in force, it was deemed most 
prudent to return to head-quarters at Fort Edward. 

The route proved difficult. It lay through dense 
forest, impeded by fallen trees and thick under- 
growth. They were obliged to advance in Indian 
file, cutting a path as they went. When night came 
they encamped on the bank of Clear Eiver. The 
next morning, while the others were preparing to 
resume the march. Major Rogers, with a foolhardy 



120 HISTORICAL TALES. 

imprudence that was little less than criminal in their 
situation, amused himself by a trial of skill with a 
British officer in firing at a mark. 

The result was almost fatal. Molang, the cele- 
brated French partisan, had hastily left Ticonderoga 
with five hundred men, on hearing of the presence 
of this scouting party of provincials, and was now 
near at hand. The sound of the muskets gave him 
exact information as to the position of their camp. 
Hastening forward, he laid an ambuscade on the line 
of march of his foes, and awaited their approach. 

Onward through the thicket came the unsuspect- 
ing provincials. They had advanced a mile, and were 
on the point of emerging from the dense growth 
into the more open forest, when yells broke from the 
bushes on both sides of theii' path, and a shower of 
bullets was poured into the advance ranks. 

Putnam, who led the van, quickly bade his men to 
return the fire, and passed the word back for the 
other divisions to hasten up. The fight soon became 
a hand-to-hand one. The creek was close by, but it 
could not be crossed in the face of the enemy, and 
Putnam bade his men to hold their ground. A sharp 
fight ensued, now in the open, now from behind trees, 
in Indian fashion. Putnam had discharged his piece 
several times, and once more pulled trigger, with the 
muzzle against the breast of a powerful Indian. 
The piece missed fire. Instantly the warrior dashed 
forward, tomahawk in hand, and by threat of death 
compelled his antagonist to surrender. Putnam was 
immediately disarmed and bound to a tree, and his 
captor returned to the fight. 



SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM. 121 

The battle continued, one party after the other 
being forced back. In the end, the movements of the 
struggling foes were such as to bring the tree to 
which Putnam was bound directly between their 
lines. He was like a target for both parties. Balls 
flew past him from either side. Many of them 
struck the tree, while his coat was pierced by more 
than one bullet. So obstinate was the contest that for 
an hour the battle raged about him, his peril continu- 
ing extreme. Nor was this his only danger. During 
the heat of the conflict a young Indian hurled a toma- 
hawk several times at his head, out of mischief more 
than malice, but with such skilful aim that the keen 
weapon more than once grazed his skin and buried 
its edge in the tree beside his head. With still 
greater malice, a French ofiicer of low grade levelled 
his musket at the prisoner's breast and attempted to 
discharge it. Fortunately for Putnam it missed fire. 
The prisoner vainly solicited more merciful treat- 
ment. The heartless villain thrust the muzzle of his 
gun violently against the captive's ribs, and in the 
end gave him a painful blow on the jaw with the 
butt-end of his piece. 

The battle ended at length in the triumph of the 
provincials. They drove the French from the field. 
But they failed to rescue Putnam. Before retiring, 
the Indian who had made him captive untied him, 
and forced him to accompany the retreating party. 
When a safe distance had been reached, the prisoner 
was deprived of his coat, vest, shoes, and stockings, his 
shoulders were loaded with the packs of the wounded, 
and his wrists were tied behind him as tightly as 

F 11 



122 HISTORICAL TALES. 

they could be drawn. In this painful condition he 
was forced to walk for miles through the woodland 
paths, until the party halted to rest. 

By this time his hands were so swollen from the 
tightness of the cord that the pain was unbearable, 
while his feet bled freely from their many scratches. 
Exhausted with his burden and wild with torment, 
he asked the interpreter to beg the Indians either to 
loose his hands or knock him on the head, and end 
his torture at once. His appeal was heard by a 
French officer, who immediately ordered his hands to 
be unbound and some of his burden to be removed. 
Shortly afterwards the Indian who had captured 
him, and who had been absent with the wounded, 
came up and expressed great indignation at his treat- 
ment. He gave him a pair of moccasins, and seemed 
kindly disposed towards him. 

Unfortunately for the captive, this kindly savage 
was obliged to resume his duty with the wounded, 
leaving Putnam with the other Indians, some two 
hundred in number, who marched in advance of the 
French contingent of the party towards the selected 
camping-place. On the way their barbarity to their 
helpless prisoner continued, culminating in a blow 
with a tomahawk, which made a deep wound in his 
left cheek. 

This cruel treatment was but preliminary to a more 
fatal purpose. It was their intention to burn their 
captive alive. No sooner had they reached their 
camping-ground than they led him into the forest 
depths, stripped him of his clothes, bound him to a 
tree, and heaped dry fuel in a circle round him. 



SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM. 123 

While thus engaged they filled the au' with the most 
fearful sounds to which their throats could give vent, 
a pandemonium of ear-piercing yells and screams. 
The pile prepared, it was set on fire. The flames 
spread rapidly through the dry brush. But by a 
chance that seemed providential, at that moment a 
sudden shower sent its rain-drops through the foliage, 
extinguished the increasing fire, and dampened the 
fuel. 

No sooner was the rain over than the yelling sav- 
ages applied their torches again to the funeral pile 
of their living victim. The dampness checked their 
efforts for a time, but at length the flames caught, 
and a crimson glow slowly made its way round the 
circle of fuel. The captive soon felt the scorching 
heat. He was tied in such a way that he could move 
his body, and he involuntarily shifted his position to 
escape the pain, — an evidence of nervousness that 
afforded the highest delight, to his tormentors, who 
expressed their exultation in yells, dances, and wild 
gesticulations. The last hour of the brave soldier 
seemed at hand. He strove to bring resolution to 
his aid, and to fix his thoughts on a happier state of 
existence beyond this earth, the contemplation of 
which might aid him to bear without flinching a short 
period of excruciating pain. 

At this critical moment, when death in its most 
horrid form stared him in the face, relief came. A 
French officer, who had been told of what was in 
progress, suddenly bounded through the savage band, 
kicked the blazing brands to right and left, and with 
a stroke of his knife released the imperilled captive. 



124 HISTORICAL TALES. 

It was Molang himself. An Indian who retained 
some instincts of humanity had informed him of 
what was on foot. The French commander repri- 
manded his barbarian associates severely, and led the 
prisoner away, keeping him by his side until he was 
able to transfer him to the care of the gigantic 
Indian who had captured him. 

This savage seemed to regard him with feelings of 
kindness. He offered him some biscuits, but finding 
that the wound in his cheek and the blow he had 
received on the jaw prevented him from chewing, he 
soaked them in water till they could be swallowed 
easily. Yet, despite his kindness, he took extraor- 
dinary care that his prisoner should not escape. 
When the camp was made, he forced the captive to 
lie on the ground, stretched each arm at full length, 
and bound it to a young tree, and fastened his legs 
in the same manner. Then a number of long and 
slender poles were cut and laid across his body from 
head to foot, on the ends of which lay several of the 
Indians. 

Under such circumstances escape could not even 
be thought of, nor was a moment's comfort possible. 
The night seemed infinitely extended, the only relief 
that came to the prisoner, as he himself relates, being 
the reflection of what a ludicrous subject the group, 
of which he was the central figure, would have made 
for a painter. 

The next day he was given a blanket and moc- 
casins, and allowed to march without being loaded 
with packs. A little bear's meat was furnished him, 
whose juice he was able to suck. At night the party 



SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM. 125 

reached Ticonderoga, where he was placed in charge 
of a French guard, and his sufferings came to an end. 
The savages manifested their chagrin at his escape 
by insulting grimaces and threatening gestures, but 
were not allowed to offer him any further indignity 
or violence. After an examination by the Marquis 
de Montcalm, who was in command at Ticonderoga, 
he was sent to Montreal, under charge of a French 
officer, who treated him in a humane manner. 

Major Putnam was a frightful object on reaching 
Montreal, the httle clothing allowed him being mis- 
erably dirty and ragged, his beard and hair dis- 
hevelled, his legs torn by thorns and briars, his face 
gashed, blood-stained, and swollen. Colonel Schuyler, 
a prisoner there, beheld his plight with deep commis- 
seration, supplied him with clothing and money, and 
did his utmost to alleviate his condition. 

When shortly afterwards an exchange of prisoners 
was being made, in which Colonel Schuyler was to be 
included, he, fearing that Putnam would be indefi- 
nitely held should his importance as a partisan leader 
become known, used a skilful artifice to obtain his 
release. Speaking to the governor with great polite- 
ness and seeming indifference of purpose, he re- 
marked, — 

"There is an old man here who is a provincial 
major. He is very desirous to be at home with his 
wife and children. He can do no good here, nor 
anywhere else. I believe your excellency had better 
keep some of the young men, who have no wives or 
children to care for, and let this old fellow go home 
with me." 

11* 



126 HISTORICAL TALES. 

His artifice was effective. Putnam was released, 
and left Montreal in company with his generous 
friend. He took further part in the war, at the end 
of which, at the Indian village of Cochuawaga, near 
Montreal, he met again the Indian whose prisoner he 
had been. The kindly savage was delighted to see 
him again, and entertained him with all the friend- 
ship and hospitality at his command. At a later 
date, when Putnam took part in the Pontiac war, he 
met again this old chief, who was now an ally of the 
English, and who marched side by side with his former 
prisoner to do battle with the ancient enemies of his 
tribe. 



A GALLANT DEFENCE. 

The relations between the Indians and the Euro- 
pean colonists of America were, during nearly the 
whole colonial and much of the subsequent period, 
what we now suggestively entitle " strained." There 
were incessant aggressions of the colonists, incessant 
reprisals by the aborigines, while the warring whites 
of America never hesitated to use these savage aux- 
iliaries in their struggles for territory and power. 
The history of this country is filled with details of 
Indian assaults on forts and settlements, ambushes, 
massacres, torturings, and acts of duplicity and 
ferocity innumerable. Yet every instance of Indian 
hostility has ended in the triumph of the whites, 
the advance of the army of colonization a step 
further, and the gradual subjugation of American 
savagery, animate and inanimate, to the beneficent 
influences of civilization. 

These Indian doings are frequently sickening in 
their details. The story of America cannot be told 
without them. Yet they are of one family, and largely 
of one species, and an example or two will serve for 
the whole. In our next tale the story of an Indian 
assault on the Daniel Boone stronghold in Kentucky 
will be told. We purpose now to give the interesting 

127 



128 HISTORICAL TALES. 

details of an attack on Fort Henry, a small frontier 
work near where Wheeling now stands. 

This attack was the work of Simon Girty, one of 
the most detestable characters that the drama of 
American history ever brought upon the stage. He 
was the offspring of crime, his parents being irre- 
deemably besotted and vicious. Of their four sons, 
two, who were taken prisoner by the Indians at 
Braddock's defeat, developed into monsters of wick- 
edness. James was adopted by the Delawares, and 
became the fiercest savage of the tribe. Simon grew 
into a great hunter among the Senecas, — unfortu- 
nately a hunter of helpless human beings as much 
as of game, — and for twenty years his name was a 
terror in every white household of the Ohio country. 
He is spoken of as honest. It was his one virtue, 
the sole redeeming leaven in a life of vice, savagery, 
and cruelty. 

In the summer of 1777 this evil product of frontier 
life collected a force of four hundred Indians for an 
assault on the whites. His place of rendezvous was 
Sandusky ; his ostensible purpose to cross the Ohio 
and attack the Kentucky frontier settlements. On 
reaching the river, however, he suddenly turned up 
its course, and made all haste towards Fort Henry, 
then garrisoned by Colonel Sheppard, with about 
forty men. 

The movements of Girty were known, and alarm 
as to their purpose was widely felt. Sheppard had 
his scouts out, but the shrewd renegade managed to 
deceive them, and to appear before Fort Henry 
almost unannounced. Happily, the coming of this 



A GALLANT DEFENCE. 129 

storm of savagery was discovered in time enough to 
permit the inhabitants of Wheeling, then composed 
of some twenty-five log huts, to fly for refuge to the 
fort. 

A reconnoitring party had been sent out under 
Captain Mason. These were ambushed by the cun- 
ning leader of the Indians, and more than half of 
them fell victims to the rifle and the tomahawk. 
Their perilous position being perceived, a party of 
twelve more, under Captain Ogle, sallied to their 
rescue. They found themselves overwhelmingly out- 
numbered, and eight of the twelve fell. These un- 
toward events frightfully reduced the garrison. Of 
the original forty only twelve remained, some of 
them little more than boys. Within the fort was 
this little garrison and the women and children of 
the settlement. Outside raged four hundred savage 
warriors, under a skilful commander. It seemed 
absolute madness to attempt a defence. Yet Colonel 
Sheppard was not one of the men who lightly surren- 
der. Death by the rifle was, in his view, better than 
death at the stake. With him were two men, Eben- 
ezer and Silas Zane, of his own calibre, while the 
whole garrison was made up of hearts of oak. 

As for the women in the fort, though they were 
of little use in the fight, they could lend their aid in 
casting bullets, making cartridges, and loading rifles. 
Among them was one, Elizabeth Zane, sister of the 
two men named, who was to perform a far more im- 
portant service. She had just returned from school 
in Philadelphia, knew little of the horrors of border 
warfare, but had in her the same indomitable spirit 
I. — i 



130 HISTORICAL TALES. 

that distinguished her brothers. A woman she was 
of heroic mould, as the events will prove. 

It was in the early morning of September 26 
that Girty appeared before the fort. A brief period 
sufficed, in the manner related, to reduce the gar- 
rison to a mere handful. Sure now of success, 
Girty advanced towards the palisades with a white 
flag, and demanded an unconditional surrender. 

Colonel Sheppard was ready with his answer. 
He had already felt the pulse of his men, and found 
that it beat with the same high spirit as his own. 
He mounted upon the ramparts, stern and inflexible, 
and hurled back his reply, — 

" This fort shall never be surrendered to you^ nor 
to any other man, while there is an American left to 
defend it." 

" Are you mad, man ?" cried Girty. " Do you know 
our force ? Do you know your own ? Eesistance is 
folly." 

"I know 2/ow, Simon Girty. That is enough to 
know. You have my answer." 

In a rage, Girty hurled back a volley of dark 
threats, then turned away, and ordered an instant 
attack. Unluckily for the garrison, some of the 
deserted log-huts were sufficiently near to shelter 
the Indians, and enable them to assault the fort 
under cover. They swarmed into these houses, and 
for six hours kept up an incessant fire on the works, 
wasting their bullets, as it proved, for none of them 
did harm to fort or man. As for the defenders, they 
had no ammunition to waste. But most of them 
were sharp-shooters, and they took good care that 



A GALLANT DEFENCE. 131 

every bullet should tell. Nearly every report from 
behind the walls told a story of wound or death. As 
good fortune willed, the savages had no artillery, and 
were little disposed to hazard their dusky skins in an 
assault in force on the well-defended walls. 

At midday the attack temporarily ceased. The 
Indians withdrew to the base of Wheeling Hill, and 
the ujDroar of yells and musketry was replaced by a 
short season of quiet. It was a fortunate reprieve 
for the whites. Their powder was almost exhausted. 
Had the assault continued for an hour longer their 
rifles must have ceased to rej)ly. 

What was to be done ? The Indians had with- 
drawn only for rest and food. They would soon be 
at their threatening work again. Answer to them 
could not long be continued. When the fire from 
the fort ceased all would be over. The exultant 
savages would swarm over the undefended walls, and 
torture and outrage be the lot of all who were not 
fortunate enough to die in the assault. 

Ebenezer Zane looked wistfully at his house, sixty 
yards away. 

" There is a keg of powder within those walls," 
he said. " If we only had it here it might mean the 
difference between safety and death." 

" A keg of powder !" cried Colonel Sheppard. " We 
must have it, whatever the danger !" He looked out. 
The Indians were within easy gunshot. Whoever 
went for the powder ran the most imminent risk of 
death. The appearance of a man outside the gates 
would be the signal for a fierce fusillade. " But we 
must have it," he repeated. " And we can spare but 



132 HISTORICAL TALES. 

one man for the task. Who shall it be ? I cannot 
order any one to such a duty. What man is ready 
to volunteer f 

Every man, apparently; they all thronged for- 
ward, each eager for the perilous effort. They strug- 
gled, indeed, so long for the honor that there was 
danger of the Indians returning to the assault before 
the powder was obtained. 

At this interval a woman stepped forward. It 
was Elizabeth Zane. The fire of a noble purpose 
shone on her earnest face. 

" But one man can be spared to go, you say. Colonel 
Sheppard," she remarked. " In my opinion no man 
can be spared to go. Let me go for the powder. 
My hfe is of much less importance to the garrison 
than that of a man." 

Colonel Sheppard looked at her with eyes of 
admiration, and then peremptorily refused her re- 
quest. This was work for men, he said, not for 
women. She should not sacrifice herself. 

It was every one's duty to do their share, she 
replied. All were alike in danger. The walls were 
not half manned. If she fell, the gap would be 
small ; if a man fell, it would be large. 

So earnest were her solicitations, and so potent 
her arguments, that Colonel Sheppard finally yielded 
a reluctant consent. It was given none too soon. 
There was little time to spare. The gate was opened 
and the brave woman walked fearlessly out. 

She had not gone a step beyond the shelter of the 
fort before the Indians perceived her. Yet the sud- 
denness of her appearance seemed to paralyze them. 



A GALLANT DEFENCE. 133 

They stood and watched her movements, as she 
walked swiftly but steadily over the space leading 
to her brother's house, but not a gun was lifted nor 
a voice was raised. So far the expedient of sending 
a woman had proved unexpectedly successful. The 
savages gazed at her in blank amazement, wonder- 
ing at her purpose. 

She entered the house. An anxious minute or two 
passed. The Indians still had not stirred. The eyes 
of the garrison were fixed with feverish anxiety on 
the door of that small hut. Then they were relieved 
by the reappearance of the devoted girl, now clasp- 
ing the precious keg of powder in her arms. 

It was no time now to walk. As rapidly as she 
could run, with the weight in her arms, she sped over 
the open space. Speed was needed. The Indians 
had suddenly come to a realizing sense of the woman's 
purpose, and a volley of bullets swept the space over 
which she fled. 

IN^ot one touched her. In a minute she had reached 
the fort. A shout of enthusiastic welcome went up. 
As the gate closed behind her, and she let fall the 
valuable prize from her unnerved arms, every hand 
was stretched to grasp hers, and a chorus of praise 
and congratulation filled the air. 

" We have a heroine among us ; we will all be 
heroes, and conquer or die," was the universal 
thought. 

It was a true one ; Elizabeth Zane's was one of 
those rare souls which seem sent on earth to make 
man proud of his race. 

At half-past two the assailants returned to the 

12 



134 HISTORICAL TALES. 

attack, availing themselves, as before, of the cover of 
the huts. After a period spent in musketry, they 
made an assault in force on the gate of the fort. 
They were met by the concentrated fire of the garri- 
son. Six of them fell. The others fled back to their 
shelter. 

Until dark the fusillade continued. After dark- 
ness had fallen the assailants tried a new device. 
Lacking artillery, they attempted to convert a hollow 
maple log into a cannon. They bound this as firmly 
as possible with chains, then, with a ludicrous igno- 
rance of what they were about, they loaded it to its 
muzzle with stones, pieces of iron, and other missiles. 
This done, they conveyed the impromptu cannon to 
a point within sixty yards of the fort, and attempted 
to discharge it against the gates. 

The result was what might have been anticipated. 
The log burst into a thousand pieces, and sent splin- 
ters and projectiles hurtling among the curious crowd 
of dusky warriors. Several of them were killed, 
others were wounded, but the gates remained un- 
harmed. This was more than the savages had counted 
on, and they ceased the assault for the night, no little 
discouraged by their lack of success. 

Meanwhile tidings of what Girty and his horde 
were about had spread through the settlements, and 
relief parties were hastily formed. At four o'clock in 
the morning fourteen men arrived, under command 
of Colonel Swearingen, and fought their way into 
the fort without losing a man. At dawn a party of 
forty mounted men made their appearance. Major 
McCullough at their head. The men managed to 



A GALLANT DEFENCE. 135 

enter the fort in safety, but the gallant major, being 
unluckily separated from his band, was left alone 
outside. 

His was a terribly critical situation. Fortunately, 
the Indians knew him for one of their most daring 
and skilful enemies, and hated him intensely. For- 
tunately, we say, for to that he owed his life. They 
could easily have killed him, but not a man of them 
would fire. Such a foeman must not die so easily ; 
he must end his life in flame and torture. Such was 
their unspoken argument, and they dashed after him 
with yells of exultation, satisfied that they had one 
of their chief foes safely in their hands. 

It seemed so, indeed. The major was well mounted, 
but the swift Indian runners managed to surround 
him on three sides, and force him towards the river 
bluffs, from which escape seemed impossible. 

With redoubled shouts they closed in upon him. 
The major, somewhat ignorant of the situation, 
pushed onward till he suddenly found himself on the 
brow of a precipice which descended at an almost 
vertical inclination for a hundred and fifty feet. 
Here was a frightful dilemma. To right and left the 
Indian runners could be seen, their fines extending 
to the verge of the cliff. What was to be done ? 
surrender to the Indians, attempt to dash through 
their line, or leap the cliff? Each way promised 
death. But death by fall was preferable to death by 
torture. And a forlorn hope of life remained. The 
horse was a powerful one, and might make the descent 
in safety. Gathering his reins tightly in his right 
hand, while his left grasped his rifle, McCullough 



136 HISTORICAL TALES. 

spurred the noble animal forward, and in an instant 
■was over the brow of the cliff, and falling rather than 
dashing down its steep declivity. 

By unlooked-for good fortune the foot of the bluff 
was reached in safety. Into the creek dashed horse 
and man, and in a minute or two the daring fugitive 
was across and safe from his savage pursuers. 

The Indians returned disappointed to the vicinity 
of the fort. Here they found that their leader had 
decided on abandoning the assault. The reinforce- 
ments received, and the probability that others were 
on the way, discouraged the renegade, and Girty led 
his horde of savages away, first doing all the harm 
in his power by burning the houses of the settlement, 
and killing about three hundred cattle belonging to 
the settlers. 

The defence of Fort Henry was one of the most 
striking for the courage displayed, and the success 
of the defenders, of the many gallant contests with 
the Indian foe of that age of stirring deeds. Aside 
from those killed in ambush, not a man of the garri- 
son had lost his life. Of the assailants, from sixty 
to one hundred fell. Simon Girty and his Indians 
had received a lesson they would not soon forget. 



DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 
OF KENTUCKY. 

The region of Kentucky, that " dark and bloody 
ground" of Indian warfare, lay long unknown to the 
whites. No Indians even dwelt there, though it was 
a land of marvellous beauty and wonderful fertility. 
For its forests and plains so abounded with game that 
it was used by various tribes as a hunting-ground, 
and here the savage warriors so often met in hostile 
array, and waged such deadly war, that not the most 
daring of them ventured to make it their home. 
And the name which they gave it was destined to 
retain its sombre significance for the whites, when 
they should invade the perilous Kentuekian wilds, 
and build their habitations in this land of dread. 

In 1767 John Finley, a courageous Indian trader, 
pushed far into its depths, and returned with thrill- 
ing stories of his adventures and tempting descrip- 
tions of the beauty and fertility of the land. These 
he told to Daniel Boone, an adventure-loving Penn- 
sylvanian, who had made his way to North Carolina, 
and built himself a home in the virgin forest at the 
head-waters of the Yadkin. Here, with his wife, his 
rifle, and his growing family, he enjoyed his frontier 
life with the greatest zest, until the increasing num- 

12^ 137 



138 HISTORICAL TALES. 

bers of new settlers and the alluring narrative of 
Finley induced him to leave his home and seek again 
the untrodden wilds. 

On the Ist of May, 1769, Finley, Boone, and three 
others struck boldly into the broad backbone of 
mountain-land which lay between their old home 
and the new land of promise. They set out on their 
dangerous journey amid the tears of their families, 
who deemed that destruction awaited them, and 
vainly besought them to abandon the enterprise. 
Forward, for days and weeks, pushed the hardy pio- 
neers, their rifles providing them with game, their 
eyes on the alert against savages, until, after what 
seemed months of toil, the mountains were passed, 
and the fertile plains and extended forests of Ken- 
tucky lay before them. 

" We found everywhere," says Boone, " abundance 
of wild beasts of all sorts, through this vast forest. 
The buffalo were more frequent than I have seen 
cattle in the settlements, browsing on the leaves of 
the cane, or cropping the herbage of these extensive 
plains, fearless, because ignorant of the violence of 
man. In this forest, the habitation of beasts of 
every kind natural to America, we practised hunting 
with great success until the 22d day of December 
following." 

On that day Boone and another were taken pris- 
oner by a party of Indians. Seven days they were 
held, uncertain as to their fate, but at length, by a 
skilful artifice, they escaped and made their way 
back to their camp, only to find it deserted, those 
whom they had left there having returned to North 



DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY. 139 

Carolina. Other adventurers soon joined them, how- 
ever, Boone's brother among them, and the remain- 
der of the winter was passed in safety. 

As regards the immediately succeeding events, it 
will suffice to say that Squire Boone, as Daniel's 
brother was called, returned to the settlements in 
the spring for supplies, the others having gone be- 
fore, so that the daring hunter was left alone in that 
vast wilderness. Even his dog had deserted him, 
and the absolute solitude of nature surrounded him. 

The movements we have described had not passed 
unknown to the Indians, and only the most extraor- 
dinary caution saved the solitary hunter from his 
dusky foes. He changed his camp every night, 
never sleeping twice in the same place. Often he 
found that it had been visited by Indians in his ab- 
sence. Once a party of savages pursued him for 
many miles, until, by speed and skill, he threw them 
from his trail. Many and perilous were his adven- 
tures during his three months of lonely life in the 
woods and canebrakes of that fear-haunted land. 
Prowling wolves troubled him by night, prowling 
savages by day, yet fear never entered his bold 
heart, and cheerfulness never fled from his mind. 
He was the true pioneer, despising peril and proof 
against loneliness. At length his brother joined 
him, with horses and supplies, and the two adven- 
turers passed another winter in the wilderness. 

Several efforts were made in the ensuing years to 
people the country, but numbers of the settlers were 
slain by the Indians, whose hostility made the task 
so perilous that a permanent settlement was not 



140 HISTORICAL TALES. 

made till 1775. The place then settled — a fine loca- 
tion on the Kentucky Eiver — was called, in honor 
of its founder, Boonesborough. Here a small fort 
was built, to which the adventurer now brought his 
family, being determined to make it his place of 
abode, despite his dusky foes. " My wife and daugh- 
ter," he says, "were the first white women that ever 
stood on the banks of Kentucky River." 

It was a dangerous step they had taken. The 
savages, furious at this invasion of their hunting- 
grounds, were ever on the alert against their pale- 
faced foes. In the following spring Boone's daugh- 
ter, with two other girls, who had thoughtlessly left 
the fort to gather flowers, were seized by ambushed 
Indians and hurried away into the forest depths. 

Their loss was soon learned, and the distracted 
parents, with seven companions, were quickly in 
pursuit through the far-reaching forest. For two 
days, with the skill of trained scouts, they followed 
the trail which the girls, true hunters' daughters, 
managed to mark by shreds of their clothing which 
they tore off and dropped by the way. 

The rapid pursuers at length came within sight 
of the camp of the Indians. Here they waited till 
darkness descended, approaching as closely as was 
safe. The two fathers, Boone and Calloway, now 
volunteered to attempt a rescue under cover of the 
night, and crept, with the acumen of practised fron- 
tiersmen, towards the Indian halting-place. Unluck- 
ily for them they were discovered and captured by 
the Indians, who dragged them exultingly to their 
camp. Here a council was quickly held, and the 



DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY. I4l 

captives condemned to suffer the dreadful fate of 
savage reprisal, — death by torture and flame. 

Morning had but fairly dawned when speedy prep- 
arations were made by the savages for their deadly 
work. They had no time to waste, for they knew 
not how many pursuers might be on their trail. The 
captives were securely bound to trees, before the 
eyes of their distracted daughters, and fagots has- 
tily gathered for the fell purpose of their foes. 

But while they were thus busied, the companions 
of Boone and Calloway had not been idle. Troubled 
by the non-return of the rescuers, the woodsmen 
crept up with the first dawn of day, saw the bloody 
work designed, and poured in a sudden storm of bul- 
lets on the savages, several of whom were stretched 
bleeding upon the ground. Then, with shouts of 
exultation, the ambushed whites burst from their 
covert, dashed into the camp before the savages 
could wreak their vengeance on their prisoners, 
and with renewed rifle-shots sent them away in 
panic flight. A knife-stroke or two released the 
captives, and the party returned in triumph to the 
fort. 

The example of Boone and his companions in 
making their homes on Kentucky soil was soon fol- 
lowed by others, and within a year or two a number 
of settlements had been made, at various promising 
localities. The Indians did not view with equa- 
nimity this invasion of their hunting-grounds. Their 
old battles with each other were now replaced by 
persistent hostility to the whites, and they lurked 
everywhere around the feeble settlements, seizing 



142 HISTORICAL TALES. 

stragglers, destroying cattle, and in every way an- 
noying the daring pioneers. 

In April, 1777, a party of a hundred of them 
fiercely attacked Boonesborough, but were driven 
off by the rifles of the settlers. In July they came 
again, now doubled in numbers, and for two days 
assailed the fort, but with the same ill-success as 
before. Similar attacks were made on the other 
settlements, and a state of almost incessant warfare 
prevailed, in which Boone showed such valor and 
activity that he became the terror of his savage 
foes, who, in compliment to his daring, christened 
him " The Great Long-Knife." On one occasion 
when two Indian warriors assailed him in the woods 
he manoeuvred so skilfully as to draw the fire of 
both, and then slew the pair of them, the one with 
his rifle, the other, in hand-to-hand fight, with his 
deadly hunting-knife. 

But the bold pioneer was destined soon to pass 
through an experience such as few men have safely 
endured. It was now February, 1778. For three 
years the settlers had defied their foes, Boone, in 
despite of them, hesitating not to traverse the forest 
alone, with rifle and hunting-knife, in pursuit of 
game. In one of these perilous excursions he sud- 
denly found himself surrounded by a party of a 
hundred Shawnese warriors, who were on their way 
to attack his own fort. He fled, but was overtaken 
and secured. Soon after, the savages fell in with a 
large party of whites who were making salt at the 
Salt Lick springs, and captured them all, twenty- 
seven in number. 



DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY. 143 

Exulting in their success, the warriors gave up 
their original project, and hastened northward with 
their prisoners. Fortunately for the latter, the 
Eevolutionary "War was now in full progress, and 
the Indians deemed it more advantageous to them- 
selves to sell their prisoners than to torture them. 
They, therefore, took them to Detroit, where all 
were ransomed by the British except Boone. The 
governor offered a large sum for his release, but the 
savages would not listen to the bribe. They knew 
the value of the man they held, and were determined 
that their illustrious captive should not escape again 
to give them trouble in field and forest. 

Leaving Detroit, they took him to Chillicothe, on 
the Little Miami Eiver, the chief town of the tribe. 
Here a grand council was held as to what should be 
done with him. Boone's fate trembled in the bal- 
ance. The stake seemed his destined doom. Fortu- 
nately, an old woman, of the family of Blackfish, 
one of their most distinguished chiefs, having lost a 
son in battle, claimed the captive as her adopted son. 
Such a claim could not be set aside. It was a legal 
right in the tribe, and the chiefs could not but yield. 
They were proud, indeed, to have such a mighty 
hunter as one of themselves, and the man for whose 
blood they had been hungering was now treated 
with the utmost kindness and respect. 

The ceremony of adoption into the tribe was a 
painful one, which Boone had to endure. Part of 
it consisted in plucking out all the hairs of his head 
with the exception of the scalp-lock, of three or 
four inches diameter. But the shrewd captive bore 



144 HISTORICAL TALES. 

his inflictions with equanimity, and appeared per- 
fectly contented with his lot. The new son of the 
tribe, with his scalp-lock, painted face, and Indian 
dress, and his skin deeply embrowned by constant 
exposure to the air, could hardly be distinguished 
from one of themselves, while his seeming satisfac- 
tion with his new Hfe was well adapted to throw the 
Indians oif their guard. His skill in all manly ex- 
ercises and in the use of arms was particularly ad- 
mired by his new associates, though, as Boone says, 
he " was careful not to exceed many of them in 
shooting, for no people are more envious than they 
in this sport." 

His wary captors, however, were not easily to be 
deceived. Seemingly, Boone was left free to go 
where he would, but secretly he was watched, and 
precautions taken to prevent his escape. He was 
permitted to go out alone to hunt, but the Indians 
always carefully counted his balls and measured his 
charges of powder, determined that he should have 
none to aid him to procure food in a long flight. 
Shrewd as they were, however, Boone was more 
than their match. In his hunting expeditions ho 
cut his balls in half, and used very small charges of 
powder, so that he was enabled to bring back game 
while gradually secreting a store of ammunition. 

And thus the days and weeks went on, while 
Daniel Boone remained, to all outward appearance, 
a contented Shawnese warrior. But at length came 
a time when flight grew imperative. He had been 
taken to the salt-licks with a party of Indians to aid 
them in making salt. On returning to Chillicotho he 



DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY. 1J:5 

was alarmed to see the former peaceful aspect of the 
village changed to one of threatened war. A band 
of four hundred and fifty warriors had been collected 
for a hostile foray, and to his horror he learned that 
Boonesborough was the destined point of attack. 

In this fort were his wife and children. In the 
present state of security of the inmates they might 
easily be taken by surprise. He alone could warn 
them of their danger, and to this end he must escape 
from his watchful foes. 

Boone was not the man to let the anxiety that 
tore his heart appear on his face. To all seeming he 
was careless and indifferent, looking on with smiling 
face at their war-dances, and hesitating not to give 
them advice in warlike matters. He knew their 
language sufficiently to understand all they said, but 
from the moment of his captivity had pretended to 
be entirely ignorant of it, talking to them only in 
the jargon which then formed the medium of com- 
munication between the red men and the whites, 
and listening with impassive countenance to the 
most fear-inspiring plans. They, therefore, talked 
freely before him, not for a moment dreaming that 
their astute prisoner had solved the problem of their 
destination. As for Boone, he appeared to enter with 
whole-souled ardor into their project, and to be as 
eager as themselves for its success, seeming so fully 
in sympathy with them, and so content with his lot, 
that they, absorbed in their enterprise, became less 
vigilant than usual in watching his movements. 

The time for the expedition was at hand. What- 
ever the result, he must dare the peril of flight. 
I.— a k 13 



116 HISTORICAL TALES. 

The distance to be traversed was one hundred and 
sixty miles. As soon as his flight should become 
known, he was well aware that a host of Indian 
scouts, thoroughly prepared for pursuit and full of 
revengeful fury, would be on his track. And there 
would be no further safety for him if captured. 
Death, by the most cruel tortures the infuriated 
savages could devise, was sure to be his fate. 

All this Boone knew, but it did not shake his reso- 
lute soul. His family and friends were in deadly 
peril ; he alone could save them ; his own danger 
was not to be thought of in this emergency. On 
the morning of June 16 he rose very early for hi a 
usual hunt. Taking the ammunition doled out to 
him by his Indian guards, he added to it that which 
he had secreted in the woods, and was ready for the 
desperate enterprise which he designed. 

Boone was now forty-three years of age, a man 
of giant frame and iron muscles, possessed of great 
powers of endurance, a master of all the arts of 
woodcraft, and one of the most skilful riflemen in 
the Western wilds. Keen on the trail, swift of foot, 
and valorous in action as were the Indian braves, 
there was no warrior of the tribe the equal in these 
particulars of the practised hunter who now medi- 
tated flight. 

On the selected morning the daring woodsman did 
not waste a moment. No sooner had he lost sight 
of the village than he headed southward at his 
utmost speed. He could count on but an hour or 
two to gain a start on his wary foes. He well knew 
that when the hour of his usual return had passed 



DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY. 147 

without his appearance, a host of scouts would follow 
in swift pursuit. Such was the case, as he after- 
wards learned. No sooner had the Indians dis- 
covered the fact of his flight than an intense com- 
motion reigned among them, and a large number of 
their swiftest runners and best hunters were put 
upon his trail. 

By this time, however, he had gained a consider- 
able start, and was pushing forward with all speed, 
taking the usual precautions as he went to avoid 
making a plain trail, but losing no time in his flight. 
He dared not use his rifle, — quick ears might be 
within hearing of its sound. He dared not kindle a 
fire to cook game, even if he had killed it, — sharp 
eyes might be within sight of its smoke. He had 
secured a few cuts of dried venison, and with this 
as his only food he pushed on by day and night, 
hardly taking time to sleep, making his way through 
forest and swamp, and across many streams which 
were swollen by recent rains. And on his track, like 
blood hounds on the scent of their victims, came the 
furious pursuers ; now losing his trail, now recover- 
ing it ; and, as they went, spreading out over a wide 
space, and pushing steadily southward over the gen- 
eral route which they felt sure he would pursue. 

At length the weary fugitive reached the banks 
of the Ohio Eiver. As yet he had not seen a foe. 
As yet he had not fired a gun. He must put that 
great stream, now swollen to a half-mile in width 
by the late rains, between him and his foes ere he 
could dare for a moment to relax his vigilance. 

Unluckily, expert as he was in woodcraft, Boone 



148 HISTORICAL TALES. 

was a poor swimmer. His skill in the water would 
never carry him across that rushing stream. How 
to get across had for hours been to him a matter of 
deep anxiety. Fortunately, on reaching its banks, 
he found an old canoe, which had drifted among the 
bushes of the shore, and stranded there, being full 
of water from a large hole in its bottom. 

The skilled hunter was not long in emptying the 
canoe and closing the hole. Then, improvising a 
paddle, he launched his leaky craft upon the stream, 
and succeeded in reaching the southern shore in 
safety. Now, for the first time, did he feel sufficiently 
safe to fire a shot and to kindle a fire. He brought 
down a wild turkey which, seasoned with hunger, 
made him the most delicious repast he had ever 
tasted. It was the only regular meal in which he 
indulged in his flight. Safety was not yet assured. 
Some of his pursuers might be already across the 
river. Onward he dashed, with unflagging energy, 
and at length reached the fort, after five days of 
incessant travel through the untrodden wilds. 

He was like a dead man returned to life. The 
people at the fort looked at him with staring eyes. 
They had long given him up for lost, and he learned, 
much to his grief, that his wife and children had 
returned to their old home in North Carolina. Just 
now, however, there was no time for sorrow, and 
little time for greeting. The fort had been neglected, 
and was in bad condition. The foe might even then 
be near at hand. There was not a moment to spare. 
He put the men energetically to work, and quickly 
had the neglected defences repaired. Then, deter- 



DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY. 149 

mined to strike terror into the foe, he led a party of 
men swiftly to and across the Ohio, met a party of 
thirty savages near the Indian town of Paint Creek, 
and attacked them so fiercely that they were put to 
rout. 

This foray greatly alarmed the Indians. It put 
courage into the hearts of the garrison. After an 
absence of seven days and a journey of a hundred 
and fifty miles, Boone and his little party returned, 
in fear lest the Chillicothe warriors might reach the 
fort during his absence. 

It was not, however, until August that the Indians 
appeared. They were four hundred and forty-four 
in number, led by Captain Duquesne and other 
French officers, and with French and British colors 
flying. There were but fifty men in the fort. The 
situation seemed a desperate one, but under Boone's 
command the settlers were resolute, and to the sum- 
mons to surrender, the daring commander returned 
the bold reply, " We are determined to defend our 
fort while a man of us lives." 

The next proposition of Duquesne was that nine 
of the garrison should come out and treat with him. 
If they could come to terms he would peacefully 
retire. The veteran pioneer well knew what peril 
lurked in this specious joromise, and how little 
safety they would have in trusting their Indian foes. 
But, moved by his bold heart and daring love of 
adventure, he assented to the dangerous proposition, 
though not without taking precautions for safety. 
He selected nine of the strongest and most active of 
his men, appointed the place of meeting in front of 

13* 



150 HISTORICAL TALES. 

the fort, at one hundred and twenty feet from the 
walls, and stationed the riflemen of the garrison so 
as to cover the spot with their guns, in case of 
treachery. 

These precautions taken, Boone led his party out, 
and was met by Duquesne and his brother officers. 
The terms proposed were liberal enough, but the 
astute frontiersman knew very well that the Indians 
would never assent to them. As the conference pro- 
ceeded, the Indian chiefs drew near, and Blackfish, 
Boone's adopted father, professed the utmost friend- 
ship, and suggested that the treaty should be con- 
cluded in the Indian manner, by shaking hands. 

The artifice was too shallow to deceive the silliest 
of the garrison. It was Blackfish's purpose to have 
two savages seize each of the whites, drag them 
away as prisoners, and then by threats of torture 
compel their comrades to surrender the fort. Boone, 
however, did not hesitate to assent to the proposi- 
tion. He wished to unmask his wily foes. That 
done, he trusted to the strength of himself and his 
fellows, and the bullets of his riflemen, to bring his 
party in safety back to the fort. 

It proved as he expected. IN'o sooner had they 
yielded their hands to the Indians than a desperate 
attempt was made to drag them away. The sur- 
rounding Indians rushed to the aid of their fellows. 
From behind stumps and trees, a shower of bullets 
was poured upon the fort. But the alert pioneers 
were not taken by surprise. From the rifles of the 
garrison bullets were poured back. Boone easily 
shook off his assailant, and his companions did the 



DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY. 151 

same. Back to the fort they fled, bullets pattering 
after them, while the keen marksmen of the fort 
sent back their sharp response. In a few seconds 
the imperilled nine were behind the heavy gates, 
only one of their number, Boone's brother, being 
wounded. They had escaped a peril from which, 
for the moment, rescue seemed hopeless. 

Baffled in then' treachery, the assailants now made 
a fierce assault on the fort, upon which they kept 
up an incessant fire for nine days and nights, giving 
the beleaguered garrison scarcely a moment for rest. 
Hidden behind rocks and trees, they poured in their 
bullets in a manner far more brisk than effectual. 
The garrison but feebly responded to this incessant 
fusillade, feeling it lecessary to husband their am- 
munition. But, unlike the fire of their foes, every 
shot of theirs told. 

During this interval the assailants began to under- 
mine the fort, beginning their tunnel at the river- 
bank. But the clay they threw out discolored the 
water and revealed their project, and the garrison 
at once began to countermine, by cutting a trench 
across the line of their projected passage. The 
enemy, in their turn, discovered this and gave up 
the attempt. Another of their efforts was to set 
fire to the fort by means of flaming arrows. This 
proved temporarily successful, the dry timbers of the 
roof bursting into flame. But one of the young 
men of the fort daringly sprang upon the roof, ex- 
tinguished the fire, and returned unharmed, although 
bullets had fallen like hailstones around him. 

At length, thoroughly discouraged, the enemy 



152 HISTORICAL TALES. 

raised the siege and departed, having succeeded only 
in killing two and wounding four of the garrison, while 
their dead numbered thirty-seven, and their wounded 
a large number. One of these dead was a negro, 
who had deserted from the fort and joined the In- 
dians, and whom Boone brought down with a bullet 
from the remarkable distance, for the rifles of that 
day, of five hundred and twenty-five feet. After 
the enemy had gone there were "picked up," says 
Boone, "one hundred and twenty-five pounds' weight 
of bullets, besides what stuck in the logs of the fort, 
which certainly is a great proof of their industry," 
whatever may be said of their marksmanship. 

The remainder of Daniel Boone's life we can give 
but in outline. After the repulse of the enemy he 
returned to the Yadkin for his family, and brought 
them again to his chosen land. He came back to 
find an Indian war raging along the whole frontier, 
in which he was called to play an active part, and 
on more than one occasion owed his life to his 
strength, endurance, and sagacity. This warfare 
continued for a number of years, the Indians being 
generally successful, and large numbers of soldiers 
falling before their savage onsets. At length the 
conduct of the war was intrusted to "Mad An- 
thony" Wayne, whose skill, rapidity, and decision 
soon brought it to an end, and forced the tribes to 
conclude a treaty of peace. 

Thenceforward Kentucky was undisturbed by 
Indian forays, and its settlement went forward with 
rapidity. The intrepid Boone had by no means 
passed through the fire of war unharmed. He tells 



DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY. 153 



US, " Two darling sons and a brother have I lost by 
savage hands, which have also taken from me forty 
valuable horses and abundance of cattle. Many 
dark and sleepless nights have I been a companion 
for owls, separated from the cheerful society of men, 
scorched by the summer's sun, and pincbed by the 
winter's cold, an instrument ordained to settle the 
wilderness." 

One wilderness settled, the hardy veteran pined 
for more. Population in Kentucky was getting far too 
thick for his ideas of comfort. His spirit craved the 
solitude of the unsettled forest, and in 1802 he again 
pulled up stakes and plunged into the depths of the 
Western woods. " Too much crowded," he declared ; 
" too much crowded. I want more elbow-room." 

His first abiding place was on the Great Kanawha, 
where he remained for several years. Then, as the 
vanguard of the army of immigrants pressed upon 
his chosen home, he struck camp again, and started 
westward with wife and children, driving his cattle 
before him, in search of a " promised land " of few 
men and abundant game. He settled now beyond 
the Mississippi, about fifty miles west of St. Louis. 
Here he dwelt for years, hunting, trapping, and en- 
joying life in his own wild way. 

Years went by, and once more the emigrant army 
pressed upon the solitude-loving pioneer, but he was 
now too old for further flight. Eighty years lay 
upon his frosted brow, yet with little diminished ac- 
tivity he pursued his old mode of life, being often 
absent from home for weeks on hunting expeditions. 
Audubon, the famous ornithologist, met him in one 



154 HISTORICAL TALES. 

of these forays, and thus pictures him : " The stature 
and general appearance of this wanderer of the West- 
ern forests," he says, " approached the gigantic. His 
chest was broad and prominent ; his muscular powers 
displayed themselves in every limb ; his countenance 
gave indication of his great courage, enterprise, and 
perseverance, and, whenever he spoke, the very mo- 
tion of his lips brought the impression that whatever 
he uttered could not be otherwise than strictly true." 

Mr. Irving tells a similar story of him in his eighty- 
fifth year. He was then visited by the Astor overland 
expedition to the Columbia. " He had but recently 
returned from a hunting and trapping expedition," 
says the historian, " and had brought nearly sixty 
beaver skins as trophies of his sldll. The old man 
was still erect in form, strong in limb, and unflinch- 
ing in spirit ; and as he stood on the river bank, 
watching the departure of an expedition destined to 
traverse the wilderness to the very shores of the 
Pacific, very probably felt a throb of his old pioneer 
8j)irit, impelling him to shoulder his rifle and join the 
adventurous band." 

Seven years afterwards he joined another band, 
that of the heroes who have gone to their rest. To 
his last year he carried the rifle and sought the depths 
of the wood. At last, in 1818, with no disease but 
old age, he laid down his life, after a most adventurous 
career, in which he had won himself imperishable 
fame as the most daring, skilful, and successful of 
that pioneer band who have dared the perils of the 
wilderness and surpassed the savage tenants of the 
forest in their own chosen arts. 



PAUL REVERE' S RIDE. 

It was night at Eoston, the birthnight of one of 
the leading events in the history of the world. The 
weather was balmy and clear. Most of the good citi- 
zens of the town were at their homes ; many of them 
doubtless in their beds ; for early hours were kept in 
those early days of our country's history. Yet many 
were abroad, and from certain streets of the town 
arose unwonted sounds, the steady tread of marching 
feet, the occasional click of steel, the rattle of accou- 
trements. Those who were within view of Boston 
Common at a late hour of that evening of April 18, 
1775, beheld an unusual sight, that of serried ranks 
of armed men, who had quietly marched thither from 
their quarters throughout the town, as the starting- 
point for some secret and mysterious expedition. 

At the same hour, in a shaded recess of the suburb 
of Charlestown, stood a strongly-built and keen-eyed 
man, with his hand on the bridle of an impatiently 
waiting horse, his eyes fixed on a distant spire that 
rose like a shadow through the gloom of the night. 
Paul Eevere was the name of this expectant patriot. 
He had just before crossed the Charles Eiver in a 
small boat, rowing heedfuUy through the darkness, 
for his route lay under the guns of a British man-of- 

155 



156 HISTORICAL TALES. 

war, llie " Somerset," on whose deck, doubtless, were 
watchful eyes on the lookout for midnight prowlers. 
Fortunately, the dark shadows which lay upon the 
water hid the solitary rower from view, and he 
reached the opposite shore unobserved. Here a swift 
horse had been provided for him, and he was bidden 
to be keenly on the alert, as a force of mounted 
British officers were on the road which he might soon 
have to take. 

And still the night moved on in its slow and silent 
course, while slumber locked the eyes of most of the 
worthy people of Boston town, and few of the patriots 
were afoot. But among these was the ardent man who 
stood with his eyes impatiently fixed on the lofty 
spire of the Old J^Torth Church, and in the town itself 
others heedfully watched the secret movements of 
the British troops. 

Suddenly a double gleam flashed from the far-off 
spire. Two lighted candles had been placed in the 
belfry window of the church, and their feeble glimmer 
sped swiftly through the intervening air and fell upon 
the eyes of the expectant messenger. No sooner had 
the light met his gaze than Paul Eevere, with a glad 
cry of relief, sprang to his saddle, gave his uneasy 
horse the rein, and dashed away at a swinging pace, 
the hoof-beats of his horse sounding like the hammer- 
strokes of fate as he bore away on his vital errand. 

A minute or two brought him past Charlestown 
Neck. But not many steps had he taken on his on- 
ward course before peril to his enterprise suddenly 
confronted him. Two British officers appeared in 
the road. 




THE. OLD NORTH CHURCH, BOSTON. 



PAUL revere's ride. 157 

"Who goes there? Halt!" was their stern com- 
mand. 

Paul Revere looked at them. They were mounted 
and armed. Should he attempt to dash past them ? 
It was too risky and his errand too important. But 
there was another road near by, whose entrance he 
had just passed. With a quick jerk at the rein he 
turned his horse, and in an instant was flying back 
at racing speed. 

" Halt, or we will fire !" cried the officers, spurring 
their horses to swift pursuit. 

Heedless of this command the bold rider drove head- 
long back, his horse quickly proving his mettle by dis- 
tancing those of his pursuers. A few minutes brought 
him to the entrance to the Medford Road. Into this he 
sharply wheeled, and was quickly away again towards 
his distant goal. Meanwhile one of the officers, find- 
ing himself distanced, turned his horse into the fields 
lying between the two roads, with the purpose of 
riding across and cutting off the flight of the fugi- 
tive. He had not taken many steps, however, before 
he found his horse floundering in a clay -pit, while 
Revere on the opposite road shot past, with a ringing 
shout of triumph as he went. 

Leaving him for the present to his journey, we 
must return to the streets of Boston, and learn the 
secret of this midnight ride. 

For several years previous to 1775 Boston had 
been in the hands of British troops, — of a foreign foe, 
we may almost say, for they treated it as though it 
were a captured town. Many collisions had occurred 
between the troops and the citizens, the rebellious 

14 



158 HISTORICAL TALES. 

feeling growing with every hour of. occupation, until 
now the spirit of rebellion, like a contagious fever, 
had spread far beyond its point of origin, and affected 
townsmen and farmers widely throughout the colo- 
nies. In all New England hostility to British rule 
had become rampant, minute-men (men pledged to 
spring to arms at a minute's notice) were everywhere 
gathering and drilling, and here and there depots 
of arms and ammunition had hastily been formed. 
Peace still prevailed, but war was in the air. 

Boston itself aided in supplying these warlike 
stores. Under the very eyes of the British guards 
cannon-balls and muskets were carried out in carts, 
covered by loads of manure. Market-women con- 
veyed powder from the city in their panniers, and 
candle-boxes served as secret receptacles for car- 
tridges. Depots of these munitions were made near 
Boston. In the preceding February the troops had 
sought to seize one of these at Salem, but were 
forced to halt at Salem bridge by a strong body of 
the people, led by Colonel Pickering. Finding them- 
selves outnumbered, they turned and marched back, 
no shot being fired and no harm done. 

Another depot of stores had now been made at 
Concord, about nineteen miles away, and this Gen- 
eral Gage had determined to destroy, even if blood 
were shed in so doing. Eebellion, in his opinion, 
was gaining too great a head ; it must be put down 
by the strong arm of force ; the time for mild meas- 
ures was past. 

Yet he was not eager to rouse the colonists to hos- 
tility. It was his purpose to surprise the patriots 



PAUL revere's ride. 159 

and capture the stores before a party could be gath- 
ered to their defence. This was the meaning of the 
stealthy midnight movement of the troops. But the 
patriot leaders in Boston were too watchful to be 
easily deceived ; they had their means of obtaining 
information, and the profound secret of the British 
general was known to them before the evening had 
far advanced. 

About nine o'clock Lord Percy, one of the British 
officers, crossed the Commons, and in doing so noticed 
a group of persons in eager chat. He joined these, 
curious to learn the subject of their conversation. 
The first words he heard filled him with alarm. 

" The British troops will miss their aim," said a 
garrulous talker. 

" What aim ?" asked Percy. 

" The cannon at Concord," was the reply. 

Percy, who was in Gage's confidence, hastened to 
the head-quarters of the commanding general and 
informed him of what he had overheard. Gage, 
startled to learn that his guarded secret was already 
town's talk, at once set guards on all the avenues lead- 
ing from the town, with orders to arrest every person 
who should attempt to leave, while the squad of 
officers of whom we have spoken were sent forward 
to patrol the roads. 

But the patriots were too keen-witted to be so 
easily checked in their plans. Samuel Adams and 
John Hancock, the patriot leaders, fearing arrest, 
had left town, and were then at Lexington, at the 
house of the Eev. Jonas Clarke. Paul Revere had 
^ been sent to Charlestown by the patriotic Dr. 



160 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Warren, with orders to take to the road the moment 
the signal lights in the belfry of the old North 
Church should appear. These lights would indicate 
that the troops were on the road. We have seen how 
promptly he obeyed, and how narrowly he escaped 
capture by General Gage's guards. 

On he went, mile by mile, rattling down the Med- 
ford Eoad. At every wayside house he stopped, 
knocked furiously at the door, and, as the startled 
inmates came hastily to the windows, shouted, " Up ! 
up ! the regulars are coming !" and before his sleepy 
auditors could fairly grasp his meaning, was away 
again. 

It was about midnight when the British troops 
left Boston, on their supposed secret march. At a 
little after the same hour the rattling sound of hoofs 
broke the quiet of the dusky streets of Lexington, 
thirteen miles away. 

Around the house of the Eev. Mr. Clarke eight 
minute-men had been stationed as a guard, to protect 
the patriot leaders within. They started hastily to 
their feet as the messenger rode up at headlong speed. 

" Eouse the house !" cried Eevere. 

"That we will not," answered the guards. " Or- 
ders have been given not to disturb the people within 
by noise." 

" Noise !" exclaimed Eevere ; " you'll have noise 
enough before long ; the regulars are coming !" 

At these startling tidings the guards suffered him 
to approach and knock at the door. The next min- 
ute a window was thrown up and Mr. Clarke looked 
out. 



PAUL revere's ride. 161 

" "Who is there ?" he demanded. 

" I wish to see Mr. Hancock," was the reply. 

" I cannot admit strangers to my house at night 
without knowing who they are." 

Another window opened as he spoke. It was that 
of John Hancock, who had heard and recognized the 
messenger's voice. He knew him well. 

" Come in, Eevere," he cried ; " we are not afraid 
of you." 

The door was opened and Eevere admitted, to tell 
his alarming tale, and bid the patriot leaders to flee 
from that place of danger. His story was quickly 
confirmed, for shortly afterwards another messenger, 
William Dawes by name, rode up. He had left 
Boston at the same time as Eevere, but by a differ- 
ent route. Adams was by this time aroused and 
had joined his friend, and the two patriot leaders, 
feeling assured that their capture was one of the 
purposes of the expedition, hastily prepared for 
retreat to safer quarters. While they did so, Eevere 
and Dawes, now joining company, mounted again, 
and once more took to the road, on their midnight 
mission of warning and alarm. 

Away they went again, with thunder of hoofs 
and rattle of harness, while as they left the streets 
of Lexington behind them a hasty stir succeeded the 
late silence of that quiet village. From every house 
men rushed to learn the news ; from every window 
women's heads were thrust ; some armed minute-men 
began to gather, and by two o'clock a hundred and 
thirty of these were gathered upon the meeting- 
house green. But no foe appeared, and the air was 
I.— I 14* 



1G2 HISTORICAL TALES. 

chilly at this hour of the night, so that, after the 
roll had been called, they were dismissed, with orders 
to be ready to assemble at beat of drmn. 

Meanwhile, Eevere and his companion had pushed 
on towards Concord, six miles beyond. On the road 
they met Dr. Samuel Prescott, a resident of that 
town, on his way home from a visit to Lexington. 
The three rode on together, the messengers telling 
their startling story to their new companion. 

It was a fortunate meeting, as events fell out, 
for, as they pushed onward, Paul Eevere somewhat in 
advance, the group of British officers of whom he had 
been told suddenly appeared in the road before him. 
Before he could make a movement to escape they 
were around him, and strong hands were upon his 
shoulders. The gallant scout was a prisoner in 
British hands. 

Dawes, who had been closely behind him, suflfered 
the same fate. Not so Prescott, who had been left 
a short distance behind by the ardent messengers. 
He sprang over the road -side wall before the officers 
could reach him, and hastened away through the 
fields towards Concord, bearing thither the story he 
had so opportunely learned. 

The officers had already in their custody three 
Lexington men, who, in order to convey the news, 
had taken to the road while Revere and Dawes were 
closeted with the patriot leaders at Mr. Clarke's. 
Eiding back with their prisoners to a house near by, 
they questioned them at point of pistol as to their 
purpose. 

Eevere at first gave evasive answers to their 



PAUL revere' S RIDE. 163 

questions. But at length, with a show of exultation, 
he said, — 

" Gentlemen, you have missed your aim." 

"What aim?" they asked. 

" I came from Boston an hour after your troops 
left it," answered Eevere. " And if I had not known 
that messengers were out in time enough to carry 
the news for fifty miles, you would not have stopped 
me without a shot." 

The officers, startled by this confident assertion, 
continued their questions ; but now, from a distance, 
the clang of a bell was heard. The Lexington men 
cried out at this, — 

" The bells are ringing ! The towns are alarmed ! 
You are all dead men !" 

This assertion, which the sound of the bells ap- 
peared to confirm, alarmed the officers. If the peo- 
l)le should rise, their position would be a dangerous 
one. They must make their way back. But, as a 
measure of precaution, they took Eevere's horse and 
cut the girths and bridles of the others. This done, 
they rode away at full speed, leaving their late cap- 
tives on foot in the road. But this the two messen- 
gers little heeded, as they knew that their tidings 
had gone on in safe hands. 

While all this was taking place, indeed, Prescott 
had regained the road, and was pressing onward at 
speed. He reached Concord about two o'clock in 
the morning, and immediately gave the alarm. As 
quickly as possible the bells were set ringing, and 
from all sides people, roused by the midnight alarum, 
thronged towards the centre square. As soon as the 



164 HISTORICAL TALES. 

startling news was heard active measures were 
taken to remove the stores. All the men, and a fair 
share of the women, gave their aid, carrying ammu- 
nition, muskets, cartridges, and other munitions has- 
tily to the nearest woods. Some of the cannon were 
buried in trenches, over which a farmer rapidly ran 
his plough, to give it the aspect of a newly-ploughed 
field. The militia gathered in all haste from neigh- 
boring villages, and at early day a large body of 
them were assembled, while the bulk of the precious 
stores had vanished. 

Meanwhile, momentous events were taking place 
at Lexington. The first shots of the American Eevo- 
lution had been fired ; the first blood had been shed. 
It was about four o'clock when the marching troops 
came within sight of the town. Until now they 
had supposed that their secret was safe, and that 
they would take the patriots off their guard. Eut 
the sound of bells, clashing through the morning air, 
told a different tale. In some way the people had 
been aroused. Colonel Smith halted his men, sent a 
messenger to Boston for re-enforcements, and ordered 
Major Pitcairn, with six companies, to press on to 
Concord with all haste and secure the bridges. 

JSTews that the troops were at hand quickly reached 
Lexington. The drums were beaten, the minute-men 
gathered, and as the coming morning showed its 
first gray tinge in the east, it gave light to a new 
spectacle on Lexington green, that of a force of 
about a hundred armed militiamen facing five or six 
times their number of scarlet-coated British troops. 

It was a critical moment. Neither party wished 



PAUL revere's ride. 165 

to fire. Both knew well what the first shot involved. 
But the moment of prudence did not last. Pitcairn 
galloped fi^rward, sword in hand, followed quickly 
by his men, and shouted in ringing tones, — 

"Disperse, you villains! Lay down your arms, 
you rebels, and disperse !" 

The patriots did not obey. Not a man of them 
moved from his ranks. Not a face blanched. Pit- 
cau'n galloped back and bade his men surround the 
rebels in arms. At this instant some shots came 
from the British line. They were instantly an- 
swered from the American ranks. Pitcairn drew 
his pistol and discharged it. 

" Fire !" he cried to his troops. 

Instantly a fusillade of musketry rang out upon 
the morning air, four of the patriots fell dead, and 
the others, moved by sudden panic, fled. As they 
retreated another volley was fired, and more men 
fell. The others hid behind stone walls and build- 
ings and returned the fire, wounding three of the 
soldiers and Pitcairn's horse. 

Such was the opening contest of the American 
Eevolution. Those shots were the signal of a tem- 
pest of war which was destined to end in the estab- 
lishment of one of the greatest nations known to 
human history. As for the men who lay dead upon 
Lexington green, the first victims to a great cause, 
they would be amply revenged before their assailants 
set foot again on Boston streets. 

The troops, elated with their temporary success, 
now pushed on briskly towards Concord, hoping to 
be in time to seize the stores. They reached there 



166 HISTORICAL TALES. 

about seven o'clock, but only to find that they were 
too late, and that most of the material of war had 
disappeared. They did what damage they could, 
knocked open about sixty barrels of flour which 
they found, injured three cannon, threw some five 
hundred pounds of balls into wells and the mill- 
pond, and set fire to the court-house. A Mrs. Moulton 
put out the flames before they had done much harm. 

The time taken in these exercises was destined 
to be fatal to many of those indulging in them. 
Militia were now gathering in haste from all the 
neighboring towns. The Concord force had with- 
drawn for re-enforcements, but about ten o'clock, 
being now some four hundred strong, the militia 
advanced and attacked the enemy on guard at 
l!^orth Bridge. A sharp contest ensued. Captain 
Isaac Davis and one of his men fell dead. Three of 
the British were killed, and several wounded and 
captured. The bridge was taken. 

Colonel Smith was in a quandary. Should he 
stand his ground, or retreat before these despised 
provincials ? Should veteran British troops fly be- 
fore countrymen who had never fired gun before 
at anything larger than a rabbit? But these de- 
spised countrymen were gathering in hordes. On 
every side they could be seen hasting forward, mus- 
ket or rifle in hand. Prudence just then seemed 
the better part of valor. About twelve o'clock 
Colonel Smith reluctantly gave the order to retreat. 

It began as an orderly march ; it ended as a dis- 
orderly flight. The story of Lexington had already 
spread far and wide, and, full of revengeful fury, 



PAUL revere's ride. 1G7 

the minute-men hastened to the scene. Eeaching 
the line of retreat, they hid behind houses, barns, 
and road-side walls, and poured a galling fire upon 
the troops, some of whom at every moment fell 
dead. During that dreadful six miles' march to 
Lexington, the helpless troops ran the gantlet of 
the most destructive storm of bullets they had ever 
encountered. On Lexington battle-green several of 
them fell. It is doubtful if a man of them would 
have reached Boston alive but for the cautious 
demand for re-enforcements which Colonel Smith had 
sent back in the early morning. 

Lord Percy, with about nine hundred men, left 
Boston about nine o'clock in the morning of the 
19th, and a short time after two in the afternoon 
reached the vicinity of Lexington. He was barely 
in time to rescue the exhausted troops of Colonel 
Smith. So worn out were they with fatigue that 
they were obliged to fling themselves on the ground 
for rest, their tongues hanging from their mouths 
through drought and weariness. 

Little time could be given them for rest. The 
woods swarmed with militiamen, who scarcely could 
be kept back by the hollow square and planted 
cannon of Lord Percy's troops. In a short time 
the march was resumed. The troops had burned 
several houses at Lexington, a vandalism which 
added to the fury of the provincials. As they pro- 
ceeded, the infuriated soldiers committed other acts 
of atrocity, particularly in West Cambridge, where 
houses were plundered and several unoffending per- 
sons murdered. 



168 HISTORICAL TALES. 

But for all this they paid dearly. The militia 
pursued them almost to the very streets of Boston, 
pouring in a hot fire at every available point. On 
nearing Charlestown the situation of the British troops 
became critical, for their ammunition was nearly ex- 
hausted, and a strong force was marching upon them 
from several points. Fortunately for them, they suc- 
ceeded in reaching Charlestown before they could 
be cut off, and here the pursuit ended as no longer 
available. The British loss in killed, wounded, and 
missing in that dreadful march had been nearly 
three hundred ; that of the Americans was about one 
hundred in all. 

It was a day mighty in history, the birthday of 
the American Eevolution ; the opening event in the 
history of the United States of America, which has 
since grown to so enormous stature, and is perhaps 
destined to become the greatest nation upon the face 
of the earth. That midnight ride of Paul Eevere 
was one of the turning-points in the history of man- 
kind. 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 

Down from the green hills of Yermont came in 
all haste a company of hardy mountaineers, at their 
head a large-framed, strong-limbed, keen-eyed fron- 
tiersman, all dressed in the homespun of their na- 
tive hills, but all with rifles in their hands, a weapon 
which none in the land knew better how to use. 
The tidings of stirring events at Boston, spreading 
rapidly through New England, had reached their 
ears. The people of America had been attacked by 
English troops, blood had been shed at Lexington 
and Concord, war was begun, a struggle for inde- 
pendence was at hand. Everywhere the colonists, 
fiery with indignation, were seizing their arms and 
preparing to fight for their rights. The tocsin had 
rung. It was time for all patriots to be up and 
alert. 

On the divide between Lakes George and Cham 
plain stood a famous fort, time-honored old Ticon- 
deroga, which had played so prominent a part in the 
French and Indian War. It was feebly garrisoned 
by English troops, and was well supplied with mu- 
nitions of war. These munitions were, just then, 
of more importance than men to the .patriot cause. 
The instant the news of Lexington reached the 
H 15 169 



170 HISTORICAL TALES. 

ears of the mountaineers of Yermont, axes were 
dropped, ploughs abandoned, rifles seized, and " Ti- 
conderoga" was the cry. Ethan Allen, a leader in 
the struggle which had for several years been main- 
tained between the settlers of that region and the 
colony of New York, and a man of vigor and de- 
cision, lost no time in calhng his neighbors to arms, 
and the Green Mountain boys were quickly in the 
field. 

Prompt as they had been, they were none too 
soon. Others of the patriots had their eyes on the 
same tempting prize. Other leaders were eagerly 
preparing to obtain commissions and raise men for 
the expedition. One of the first of these was Bene- 
dict Arnold, who had been made colonel for the pur- 
pose by the governor of Massachusetts, and hastened 
to the western part of the colony to raise men and 
take command of the enterprise. 

He found men ready for the work. Green Moun- 
tain men, with the stalwart Ethan Allen at their 
head, but men by no means disposed to put them- 
selves' under any other commander than the sturdy 
leader of their choice. 

Only a year or two before Allen, as their colonel, 
had led these hardy mountaineers against the settlers 
from New York who had attempted to seize their 
claims, and driven out the interlopers at sword's 
point. The courts at Albany had decided that the 
Green Mountain region was part of the colony of 
New York. Against this decision Allen had stirred 
the settlers to armed resistance, thundering out 
against the fulminations of the lawyers the appo- 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 171 

Bite quotation from Scripture, " The Lord is the God 
of the hills, but He is not the God of the valleys," 
and rousing the men of the hills to fight what ho 
affirmed to be God's battle for the right. In 1774, 
Governor Tryon, of New York, offered a reward of 
one hundred and fifty pounds for the capture of 
Allen. The insurgent mountaineer retorted by offer- 
ing an equal reward for the capture of Governor 
Tryon. Neither reward had been earned, a year 
more had elapsed, and Ethan Allen, at the head of 
his Green Mountain boys, was in motion in a greater 
cause, to defend, not Yermont against New York, 
but America against England. 

But, before proceeding, we must go back and bring 
up events to the point we have reached. The means 
for the expedition of the Green Mountain boys came 
from Connecticut, whence a sum of three hundred 
pounds had been sent in the hands of trusty agents 
to Allen and his followers. They were found to be 
more than ready, and the Connecticut agents started 
in advance towards the fort, leaving the armed band 
to follow. One of them, Noah Phelps by name, vol- 
unteered to enter the fort and obtain exact informa- 
tion as to its condition. He disguised himself and 
entered the fort as a countryman, pretending that he 
wanted to be shaved. While hunting for the barber 
he kept his eyes open and used his tongue freely, 
asking questions like an innocent rustic, until he had 
learned the exact condition of affairs, and came out 
with a clean face and a full mind. 

Allen was now rapidly approaching, and, lest news 
of his movement should reach the fort, men were 



172 HISTORICAL TALES. 

sent out on all the roads leading thither, to intercept 
passers. On the 8th of May all was ready. Allen, 
with one hundred and forty men, was to go to the 
lake by way of Shoreham, opposite the fort. Thirty 
men, under Captain Herrick, were to advance to 
Skenesborough, capture Major Skene, seize boats, and 
drop down the lake to join Allen. 

All was in readiness for the completion of the 
work, when an officer, attended by a single servant, 
came suddenly from the woods and hurried to the 
camp. It was Benedict Arnold, who had heard of 
w^hat was afoot, and had hastened forward to claim 
command of the mountaineers. 

It was near nightfall. The advance party of 
Allen's men was at Hand's Cove, on the eastern side 
of the lake, preparing to cross. Arnold joined them 
and crossed with them, but on reaching the other 
side of the lake claimed the command. Allen angrily 
refused. The debate waxed hot; Arnold had the 
commission ; Allen had the men : the best of the 
situation lay with the latter. He was about to set- 
tle the difficulty by ordering Arnold under guard, 
when one of his friends, fearing danger to the enter- 
prise from the controversy, suggested that the two 
men should march side by side. This compromise 
was accepted and the dispute ended. 

Ey this time day was about to break. Eighty- 
three men had landed, and the boats had returned 
for the rest. But there was evidently no time to 
lose if the fort was to be surprised. They must move 
at once, without waiting for the remainder of the 
party. A farmer's boy of the vicinity, who was 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 173 

familiar with the fort, offered to act as guide, and in 
a few minutes more the advance was begun, the two 
leaders at the head, Allen in command, Arnold as a 
volunteer. 

The stockade was reached. A wicket stood open. 
Through this Allen charged followed by his men. A 
sentry posted there took aim, but his piece missed 
fire, and he ran back shouting the alarm. At his 
heels came the two leaders, at full speed, their men 
crowding after, till, before a man of the garrison 
appeared, the fort was fairly won. 

Allen at once arranged his men so as to face each 
of the barracks. It was so early that most of those 
within were still asleep, and the fort was captured 
without the commander becoming aware that any 
thing unusual was going on. His whole command 
was less than fifty men, and resistance would have 
been useless with double their number of stalwart 
mountaineers on the parade-ground. 

Allen forced one of the sentries who had been cap- 
tured to show him the way to the quarters of Cap- 
tain Delaplace, the commander. Eeaching the 
chamber of the latter, the militia leader called on 
him in a stentorian voice to surrender. Delaplace 
sprang out of bed, and, half dressed, appeared with 
an alarmed and surprised face at the door. 

" By whose authority ?" he demanded, not yet alive 
to the situation. 

"In the name of the great Jehovah and the Con- 
tinental Congress!" roared out the Green Moun- 
taineer. 

Here was a demand which, backed as it was by a 

15* 



174 HISTORICAL TALES. 

drawn sword and the sound of shouts of triumph 
outside, it would have been madness to resist. The 
fort was surrendered with scarcely a shot fired or a 
blow exchanged, and its large stores of cannon and 
ammunition, then sorely needed by the colonists 
besieging Boston, fell into American hands. The 
stores and miUtary material captured included a 
hundred and twenty pieces of cannon, with a con- 
siderable number of small arms and other munitions 
of high value to the patriot cause. 

While these events were taking place, Colonel 
Seth Warner was bringing the rear-guard across the 
lake, and was immediately sent with a hundred men 
to take possession of the fort at Crown Point, in 
which was only a sergeant and twelve men. This 
was done without difficulty, and a hundred more 
cannon captured. 

The dispute between Arnold and Allen was now 
renewed, Massachusetts supporting the one, Con- 
necticut the other. While it was being settled, the 
two joined in an expedition together, with the pur- 
pose of gaining full possession of Lake Champlain, 
and seizing the town of St. Johns, at its head. This 
failed, reinforcements having been sent from Mon- 
treal, and the adventurers returned to Ticonderoga, 
contenting themselves for the time being with their 
signal success in that quarter, and the fame on which 
they counted from their daring exploit. 

The after-career of Ethan Allen was an interesting 
one, and worthy of being briefly sketched. Having 
taken Ticonderoga, he grew warm with the desire to 
take Canada, and, on September 25, 1775, made a 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 175 

rash assault on Montreal with an inadequate body 
of men. The support he hoj)ed for was not forth- 
coming, and he and his little band were taken, Allen, 
soon after, being sent in chains to England. 

Here he attracted much attention, his striking 
form, his ardent patriotism, his defiance of the Eng- 
lish, even in captivity, and certain eccentricities of 
his manner and character interesting some and 
angering others of those with whom he had inter- 
course. 

Afterwards he was sent back to America and held 
prisoner at Halifax and JSTew York, in jails and 
prison-ships, being most of the time harshly treated 
and kept heavily ironed. He was released in 1778. 

A fellow-prisoner, Alexander Graydon, has left in 
his memoirs a sketch of Allen, which gives us an 
excellent idea of the man. " His figure was that of 
a robust, large-framed man worn down by confine- 
ment and hard fare. . . . His style was a singular 
compound of local barbarisms, scriptural phrases, 
and Oriental wildness. . . . Notwithstanding that 
Allen might have had something of the insubordi- 
nate, lawless, frontier spirit in his composition, he 
appeared to me to be a man of generosity and honor." 

Among the eccentricities of the man was a dis- 
belief in Christianity, — much more of an anomaly 
in that day than at present, — and a belief in the 
transmigration of souls, it being one of his fancies 
that, after death, his spiritual part was to return to 
this world in the form of a large white horse. 

On his release he did not join the army. Yermont 
had declared itself an independent State in 1777, and 



176 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Bought admittance to the Confederation. This J^ew 
York opposed. Allen took up the cause, visited 
Congress on the subject, but found its members not 
inclined to offend the powerful State of New York. 
There was danger of civil war in the midst of the 
war for independence, and the English leaders, seeing 
the state of affairs, tried to persuade Allen and the 
other Green Mountain leaders to declare for the 
authority of the king. They evidently did not know 
Ethan Allen. He was far too sound a patriot to 
entertain for a moment such a thought. The letters 
received by him he sent in 1782 to Congress, and 
when the war ended Yermont was a part of the 
Union, though not admitted as a State till 1791. 
Allen was then dead, having been carried away 
suddenly by apoplexy in 1789. 



THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK. 

Before the days of dynamite and the other power- 
ful explosives which enable modern man to set at 
naught the most rigid conditions of nature, warfare 
with the torpedo was Httle thought of, gunpowder 
being a comparatively innocent agent for this pur- 
pose. In the second period of the Eevolutionary War, 
when the British fleet had left Boston and appeared 
in the harbor of iJ^ew York, preparatory to an attack 
on the latter city, the only methods devised by the 
Americans for protection of the Hudson were sunken 
hulks in the stream, chevaux-de-frise^ composed of 
anchored logs, and fire-ships prepared to float down 
on the foe. All these proved of no avail. The cur- 
rent loosened the anchored logs, so that they proved 
useless ; the fire-ships did no damage ; and the bat- 
teries on shore were not able to hinder certain ships 
of the enemy from running the gauntlet of the city, 
and ascending the Hudson to Tappan Sea, forty miles 
above. All the service done by the fire-ships was to 
alarm the captains of these bold cruisers, and induce 
them to run down the river again, and rejoin the 
fleet at the Narrows. 

It was at this juncture that an interesting event 
took place, the first instance on record of the use of 
I.— m 177 



178 HISTORICAL TALES. 

a torpedo-vessel in warfare. A Connecticut officer 
named Bushnell, an ingenious mechanician, had in- 
vented during his college-life an oddly-conceived 
machine for submarine explosion, to which he gave 
the appropriate name of " The American Turtle." 
He had the model with him in camp. A report of 
the existence of this contrivance reached General 
Putman, then in command at 'New York. He sent 
for Bushnell, talked the matter over with him, exam- 
ined the model, and was so pleased with it that he 
gave the inventor an order to construct a working- 
machine, supplying funds for this purpose. 

Bushnell lost no time. In ten days the machine 
was ready. It was a peculiar- looking affair, justify- 
ing its name by its resemblance to a large ocean- 
turtle. In the head, or front portion, was an air- 
tight apartment, with a narrow entrance. It was 
claimed to be capable of containing fresh air enough 
to support life for half an hour. The bottom of the 
machine was ballasted with lead. Motion was ob- 
tained from an oar, adapted for rowing backward 
or forward, while a rudder under control of the 
operator served for steering purposes. In the bottom 
was a valved aperture, into which water could be 
admitted when it was desired to sink the machine ; 
while the water could be ejected by two brass 
pumps when the operator wished to rise again. 

The torpedo arrangement consisted of two pieces 
of oak timber, hollowed out and filled with powder, 
the space containing a clock-work arrangement that 
could be set to run any time desired, and a contriv- 
ance for exploding the powder when the time expired. 



THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK. 179 

This torpedo was fixed in the rear of the vessel, aiid 
was provided with a strong screw, that could be 
turned by the operator, so as to fasten it under the 
bottom of a ship or in other desired location. So far 
as appeared, the contrivance was not unpromising. 
It failed in its purpose, but solely, if the word of the 
operator may be taken, from the absence of an indis- 
pensable article of supply. What this was will appear 
in the sequel. 

Captain Bushnell's brother had volunteered for the 
perilous enterprise. A sudden sickness prevented 
him, and his place was taken by a venturesome New 
London sergeant named Abijah Shipman, or, as re- 
christened by his companions, " Long Bige." He 
was an amphibious chap, half sailor, half soldier, 
long, thin, and bony, and not wanting in Yankee 
humor. He had courage enough to undertake any 
enterprise, if he could only be primed with rum and 
tobacco, articles which he deemed the leading neces- 
saries of life. 

It was an early hour of a July morning. The sun 
had not appeared on the eastern horizon. By a 
wharf-side on the Hudson floated the strange marine 
monster whose powers were about to be tested. On 
the shore stood Putman and many other officers. In 
their midst was Abijah Shipman, ready to start on his 
dangerous enterprise. It was proposed to tow the 
nondescript affair into the stream, set it adrift on the 
tide, and trust to Abijah's skill to bring it under the 
bottom of the "Eagle," Admiral Howe's flag-ship, 
which had been chosen for the victim. If the maga- 
zine could be attached to the bottom of this vessel, she 



180 HISTORICAL TALES. 

must surely be destroyed. But certainly the chances 
seemed greatly against its being thus attached. 

Everything was ready. Abijah stepped on board 
his craft, entered the air-tight chamber, closed the 
cover, and was about to screw it down, when sud- 
denly it flew open again, and his head emerged. 

" Thunder and marlinspikes ! " he exclaimed, " who's 
got a cud of tobacco ? This old cud won't last, any- 
how." And he threw away the worn-out lump on 
which he had been chewing. 

A laugh followed his appeal. Such of the officers 
as used the weed felt hastily in their pockets. They 
were empty of the indispensable article. There was 
no hope for Abijah ; daylight was at hand, time was 
precious, he must sail short of supplies. 

" You see how it is, my brave fellow," said Putnam. 
""We Continental officers are too poor to raise even a 
tobacco plug. Push off. To-morrow, after you have 
sent the ' Eagle' on its last flight, some of our South- 
ern officers shall order you a full keg of old Virginia 
weed." 

" It's too bad," muttered Abijah, dejectedly. " And 
mind you, gen'ral, if the old ' Turtle' doesn't do her 
duty, it's all 'long of me goin' to sea without tobacco." 

Down went Abijah's head, the cover was tightly 
screwed into place, and the machine was towed out 
into the channel and cast loose. Away it floated 
towards the British fleet, which lay well up in the 
Narrows. The officers made their way to the Bat- 
tery, where they waited in much suspense the result 
of the enterprise. 

An hour slowly moved by. Morning broke. The 



THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK. 181 

rim of the sun lifted over the distant waters. Yet 
the " Eagle" still rode unharmed. Something surely 
had happened. The torpedo had failed. Possibly 
the venturesome Abijah was reposing in his stranded 
machine on the bottom of the bay. Putnam anx- 
iously swept the waters in the vicinity of the " Eagle" 
with his glass. Suddenly he exclaimed, " There he 
is !" The top of the " Turtle" had just emerged, in 
a little bay a short distance to the left of Howe's 
flag-ship. 

It was seen as quickly by the sentinels on the 
" Eagle," who fired at the strange aquatic monster 
with such good aim that Abijah popped under the 
water as hastily as he had emerged from it. On board 
the "Eagle" confusion evidently prevailed. This 
strange contrivance had apparently filled the mariners 
with alarm. There were signs of a hasty effort to 
get under weigh, and wings were added to this haste 
when a violent explosion took place in the immediate 
vicinity of the fleet, hurling up great volumes of 
water into the air. The machine had been set to run 
an hour, and had duly gone off at its proper time, but, 
for some reason yet to be explained, not under the 
" Eagle." The whole fleet was not long in getting up 
its anchors, setting sail, and scurrying down the bay to 
a safer abiding-place below. And here they lay until 
the day of the battle of Long Island, not venturing 
again within reach of that naval nondescript. 

As for the " Turtle," boats at once set out to Abijah's. 
relief and he was taken off in the vicinity of Gov- 
ernor's Island. On landing and being questioned, he 
gave, in his own odd way, the reasons of his failure. 

16 



182 HISTORICAL TALES. 

*' Just as I said, gen'ral," he remarked, " it all 
failed for the want of that cud of tobacco. You see, 
I am narvous without tobacco. I got under the 
* Eagle's' bottom, but somehow the screw struck the 
iron bar that passes from the rudder pin lie, and 
wouldn't hold on anyhow I could fix it. Just then 
I let go the oar to feel for a cud, to steady my narves, 
and I hadn't any. The tide swept me under her 
counter, and away I slipped top o' water. I couldn't 
manage to get back, so I pulled the lock and let the 
thunder-box slide. That's what comes of sailin' short 
of supplies. Say, can't you raise a cud among you 
now ? " 

There is another interesting story to tell, in con- 
nection with the British occupation of New York, 
which may be fitly given here. The battle of Long 
Island had been fought. The American forces had 
been safely withdrawn. Washington had moved the 
main body of his army, with the bulk of the stores, 
from the city, leaving General Putnam behind, in 
command of the rear-guard. 

Putnam's position was a perilous one. The con- 
figuration of Manhattan Island is such that the 
British could land a force from the East River, throw 
it across the narrow width of the island, and cut off 
retreat from below. The only trust lay in the shore 
batteries, and they proved useless. 

A British landing was made at Kip's Bay, about 
three miles above the city, where were works strong 
enough to have kept off the enemy for a long time, 
had they been well defended. As it was, the garri- 
son fled in a panic, on the bare appearance of the 



THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK. 183 

British transports. At the same time three ships of 
war moved up the Hudson to Bloomingdale, and 
attacked the works there. 

The flight of the Kip's Bay garrison left Putnam 
in the most imminent peril. He had about three 
thousand men, and a dangerous incumbrance of 
women, children, camp-followers, and baggage. The 
weather was very hot, the roads were narrow ; every- 
thing tended to make the retreat difficult and peril- 
ous. The instant he heard of the unlooked-for 
cowardice of the Kip's Bay garrison and the land- 
ing of the enemy, he put his men in motion, and 
strained every nerve to push them past the point of 
danger before his channel of escape should be closed. 
Safety seemed a forlorn hope. The British had 
landed in force above him. A rapid march would 
quickly bring them to the Hudson. The avenue of 
exit would be closed. The danger of capture was 
extreme. It was averted by one of those striking 
incidents of which so many give interest to the 
history of war. In this case it was a woman whose 
coolness and quick wit proved the salvation of Put- 
nam's imperilled army. 

Sir Henry Clinton, having fairly landed his men 
at Kip's Bay, put them quickly into motion to cut 
otf Putnam's retreat. In his march for this object, 
his route lay along the eastern side of Murray Hill, 
where was the residence of Mrs. Murray, mother of 
Lindley Murray, the grammarian, and a most worthy 
old Quaker lady. Putnam had sent her word, some 
time before, of his perilous situation, begging her, if 
possible, to detain General Clinton, by entertaining 



184 HISTORICAL TALES. 

him and his oflScers. If their march could be 
hindered for an hour it would be an invaluable 
service. 

The patriotic old lady was quick to respond. 
Many of the British oflScers knew her, and when 
she appeared, with a welcoming smile, at her door, 
and cordially invited them to step in and take a 
friendly glass of wine, the offer was too tempting to 
be refused. Exhausted with the heat and with the 
labor of disembarking, they were only too glad to 
halt their columns for a short rest, and follow her 
into her comfortable dining-room. Here Mrs. Mur- 
ray and the ladies of her family exerted themselves 
to entertain their guests. The wine proved excellent. 
The society and conversation of the ladies was a 
delightful change from the duties of the camp. The 
minutes became an hour before the guests dreamed 
of the flight of time. 

At length a negro servant, who had been on the 
lookout from the housetop, entered the room, made 
a significant sign to his mistress, and at once with- 
drew. Mrs. Murray now rose, and with a meaning 
smile turned to her titled guest. 

" Will you be kind enough to come with me, Sir 
Henry?" she asked. "I have something of great 
interest to show you." 

" With pleasure," he replied, rising with alacrity, 
and following her from the room. 

She led the way to the lookout in the upper story, 
and pointed to the northern side of the hill, where 
could be seen the American flag, proudly waving 
over the ranks of the retiring army. They were 



THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK. 185 

marcliing in close array into the open plain of 
Bloomingdale. 

" How do you like the prospect, Sir Henry ?" she 
calmly inquired. " We consider the view from this 
side an admirable one." 

What Sir Henry replied, history has not recorded. 
No doubt it lacked the quality of politeness. Down 
the stairs he rushed, calling to his oflScers as he 
passed, leaped upon his horse, and could scarcely 
find words in his nervous haste to give orders for 
pursuit. 

He was too late. The gap was closed ; but noth- 
ing, except such baggage and stores as could not be 
moved, remained in the trap which, if sprung an 
hour earlier, would have caught an army. 

Only for Mrs. Murray's inestimable service, Put- 
nam and his men would probably have become 
prisoners of war. Her name lives in history among 
those of the many heroines who so ably played their 
part in the drama of American liberty, and who 
should hold high rank among the makers of the 
American Commonwealth. 



A QUAKERESS PATRIOT. 

In Philadelphia, on Second Street below Spruce, 
formerly stood an antiquated mansion, known by 
the name of " Loxley's House," it having been orig- 
inally the residence of Lieutenant Loxley, who served 
in the artillery under Braddock, and took part in 
his celebrated defeat. During the Eevolution this 
house was the scene of an interesting historical inci- 
dent, which is well worth relating. 

At that time it was occupied by a Quaker named 
Darrah, or perhaps we should say by his wife Lydia, 
who seems to have been the ruling spirit of the 
house. During the British occupation of Philadel- 
phia, when patriots and royalists alike had to open 
their mansions to their none too welcome guests, the 
Darrah mansion was used as the quarters of the 
British adjutant-general. In that day it was some- 
what " out of town," and was frequently the scene 
of private conferences of the higher officers, as being 
somewhat secluded. 

On one chill and snowy day, the 2d of December, 
1777, the adjutant-general apj)eared at the house and 
bade Mrs. Darrah to prepare the upper back room 
for a meeting of his friends, which would take place 
that night. 
186 



A QUAKERESS PATRIOT. 187 

" They may stay late," he said, and added, emphati- 
cally, " be sure, Lydia, that your family are all in 
bed at an early hour. When our guests are ready to 
leave the house I will give you notice, that you may 
let us out and extinguish the fire and candles." 

Mrs. Darrah obeyed. Yet she was so struck by 
the mystery with which he seemed inclined to sur- 
round the projected meeting, that she made up her 
mind to learn, if possible, what very secret business 
was afoot. She obeyed his orders literally, saw that 
her people were early in bed, and, after receiving the 
officers, retired herself to her room, but not to sleep. 
This conference might presage some peril to the 
American cause. If so, she wished to know it. 

When she deemed the proper time had come, she 
removed her shoes, and in stocking feet stole softly 
along the passage to the door of the apartment 
where the officers were in consultation. Here the 
key-hole served the purpose to which that useful 
opening has so often been put, and enabled her to 
hear tidings of vital interest. For some time only a 
murmur of voices reached her ears. Then silence 
fell, followed by one of the officers reading in a clear 
tone. She listened intently, for the document was 
of absorbing interest. It was an order from Sir 
William Howe, arranging for a secret attack on 
Washington's camp at Whitemarsh. The troops 
were to leave the city on the night of the 4th under 
cover of the darkness, and surprise the rebels before 
daybreak. 

The fair eavesdropper had heard enough. Earely 
had key-hole listener been so well rewarded. She 



188 HISTORICAL TALES. 

glided back to her room, and threw herself on her 
bed. She was none too soon. In a few minutes 
afterwards steps were heard in the passage and then 
came a rap upon her door. The fair conspirator was 
not to be taken unawares ; she feigned not to hear. 
The rap was repeated a second and a third time. 
Then the shrewd woman affected to awake, answered 
in a sleepy tone, and, learning that the adjutant- 
general and his friends were ready to leave, arose 
and saw them out. 

Lydia Darrah slept no more that night. The 
secret she had learned banished slumber. What was 
to be done ? This thought filled her mind the night 
long. Washington must be warned; but how? 
Should she trust her husband, or some other member 
of her family? 'No, they were all leaky vessels; 
she would trust herself alone. Before morning she 
had devised a plan of action, and for the first time 
since learning that eventful news the anxious woman 
gave her mind a moment's rest. 

At early dawn she was astir. Flour was needed 
for the household. She woke her husband and told 
him of this, saying that she must make an early 
journey to Frankford to supply the needed stores. 
This was a matter of ordinary occurrence in those 
days, the people of Philadelphia being largely de- 
pendent upon the Frankford mills for their flour, 
and being obliged to go for it themselves. The idea 
of house-to-house delivery had not yet been born. 
Mr. Darrah advised that she should take the maid 
with her, but she declined. The maid could not be 
spared from her household duties, she said. 



A QUAKERESS PATRIOT. 189 

It was a cold December morning. The snow of 
the day before had left several inches of its white 
covering upon the ground. It was no very pleas- 
ant journey which lay before Mrs. Darrah. Frank- 
ford was some five miles away, and she was obliged 
to traverse this distance afoot, and return over the 
same route with her load of flour. Certainly com- 
fort was not the ruling consideration in those days 
of our forefathers. A ten-mile walk through the 
snow for a bag of flour would be an unmentionable 
hardship to a nineteenth-century housewife. 

On foot, and bag in hand, Mrs. Darrah started on 
her journey through the almost untrodden snow, 
stopping at General Howe's head-quarters, on Mar- 
ket Street near Sixth, to obtain the requisite pass- 
port to leave the city. It was still early in the day 
when the devoted woman reached the mills. The 
British outposts did not extend to this point ; those 
of the Americans were not far beyond. Leaving 
her bag at the mill to be filled, Mrs. Darrah, full of 
her vital mission, pushed on through the wintry 
air, ready to incur any danger or discomfort if 
thereby she could convey to the patriot array the 
important information which she had so opportunely 
learned. 

Fortunately, she had not far to go. At a short 
distance out she met Lieutenant-Colonel Craig, who 
had been sent out by Washington on a scouting ex- 
pedition in search of information. She told him her 
story, begged him to hasten to Washington with the 
momentous tidings, and not to reveal her name, and 
hurried back to the mill. Here she shouldered the 



190 HISTORICAL TALES. 

bag of flour, and trudged her five miles home, reach- 
ing there in as reasonably short a time as could have 
been expected. 

Night came. The next day passed. They were 
a night and day of anxious suspense for Lydia 
Darrah. From her window, when night had again 
fallen, she watched anxiously for movements of the 
British troops. Ah ! there at length they go, long 
lines of them, marching steadily through the dark- 
ness, but as noiselessly as possible. It was not 
advisable to alarm the city. Patriot scouts might 
be abroad. 

When morning dawned the restless woman was 
on the watch again. The roll of a drum came to 
her ears from a distance. Soon afterwards troops 
appeared, weary and discontented warriors, march- 
ing back. They had had their night's journey in 
vain. Instead of finding the Americans off their 
guard and an easy prey, they had found them wide 
awake, and ready to give them the hottest kind of 
a reception. After manoeuvring about their lines 
for a vulnerable point, and finding none, the doughty 
British warriors turned on their track and marched 
disconsolately homeward, having had their labor for 
their pains. 

The army authorities were all at sea. How had 
this information got afoot ? Had it come from the 
Darrah house? Possibly, for there the conference 
had been held. The adjutant-general hastened to 
his quarters, summoned the fair Quakeress to his 
room, and after locking the door against intrusion, 
turned to her with a stern and doubting face. 



A QUAKERESS PATRIOT. 191 

"Were any of your family up, Lydia," he asked, 
" on the night when I had visitors here ?" 

" ]^o," she replied ; " they all retired at eight 
o'clock." 

This was quite true so far as retiring went. Noth- 
ing was said about a subsequent rising. 

" It is very strange," he remarked, musingly. 
" You, I know, were asleep, for I knocked at your 
door three times before you heard me; yet it is 
certain that we were betrayed. I am altogether at a 
loss to conceive who could have given Washington 
information of our intended attack. But on arriving 
near his camp we found him ready, with troops 
under arms and cannon planted, prepared at all 
points to receive us. We have been compelled to 
turn on our heels, and march back home again, like 
a parcel of fools." 

As may well be surmised, the patriotic Lydia kept 
her own counsel, and not until the British had left 
Philadelphia was the important secret of that signal 
failure made known. 



THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER. 

All was terror in the valley of the Mohawk, for 
its fertile fields and happy homes were threatened 
with the horrors of Indian warfare. All New York 
State, indeed, was in danger. The hopes of American 
liberty were in danger. The deadliest peril threat- 
ened the patriotic cause ; for General Burgoyne, 
with an army of more than seven thousand men, was 
encamped at St. John's, at the foot of Lake Cham- 
plain, prepared to sweep down that lake and Lake 
George, march to the valley of the upper Hudson, 
driving the feeble colonial forces from his path, and, 
by joining with a force sent up the Hudson from 
New York City, cut off New England from the re- 
maining colonies and hold this hot-bed of rebellion 
at his mercy. It was a well-devised and threatening 
scheme. How disastrously for the royalists it ended 
all readers of history know. With this great enter- 
prise, however, we are not here concerned, but with 
a side issue of Burgoyne's march whose romantic in- 
cidents fit it for our pages. 

On the Mohawk Eiver, at the head of boat-navi- 
gation, stood a fort, built in 1758, and named Fort 
Stanwix ; repaired in 1776, and named Fort Schuyler. 
The possession of this fort was important to General 
192 



THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER. 193 

Burgo;yTie'8 plan. Its defence was of vital moment 
to the inhabitants of the Mohawk Valley. Interest 
for the time being centred round this outpost of the 
then almost unbroken wilderness. 

On one side Lieutenant-Colonel St. Leger was de- 
spatched, at the head of seven hundred rangers, to 
sail up the St. Lawrence and Lake Ontario to Oswego, 
and from that point to march southward, rousing 
and gathering the Indians as he went, capture Fort 
Schuyler, sweep the valley of the Mohawk with the 
aid of his savage allies, and join Burgoyne at Albany 
when his triumphant march should have reached 
that point. 

On the other side no small degree of haste and 
consternation prevailed. Colonel Gansevoort had 
been placed in command at the fort with a garrison 
of seven hundred and fifty men. But he found it in 
a state of perilous dilapidation. Originally a strong 
square fortification, with bomb proof bastions, glacis, 
covered way, and ditch outside the ramparts, it had 
been allowed to fall into decay, and strenuous efforts 
were needed to bring it into condition for defence. 

Meanwhile, news of the coming danger had spread 
widely throughout the Mohawk Valley, and every- 
where the most lively alarm prevailed. An Oneida 
Indian brought the news to the fort, and from there 
it made its way rapidly through the valley. Con- 
sternation was wide-spread. It was too late to look 
for aid to a distance. The people were in too great 
a panic to trust to themselves. That the rotten tim- 
bers of the old fort could resist assault seemed very 
doubtful. If they went down, and Brant with his 
I.— I n 17 



194 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Indians swept the valley, for what horrors might 
they not look? It is not surprising that, for the 
time, fear drove valor from almost every heart in the 
imperilled region. 

Up Lake Oneida came the enemy, now seven- 
teen hundred strong, St. Leger with his rangers 
having been joined by Johnson, Butler, and Brant 
with their Tories and Indians. Every tribe of the 
Iroquois had joined the invaders with the exception 
of the Oneidas, who remained faithful to the colo- 
nists. 

On the 2d of August, 1777, Brant with his savage 
followers reached and invested the fort, the plumed 
and moccasined foe suddenly breaking from the 
forest, and with their wild war-whoops seeking to 
intimidate the beleagured garrison. On the next 
day came St. Leger with his whole force. On the 
4th the siege commenced. Bombs were planted and 
threw their shells into the fort; the Indians, con- 
cealed behind bushes and trees, picked off with 
their arrows the men who were diligently employed 
in strengthening the parapets ; and during the even- 
ing the savages, spreading through the woods, sought, 
by frightful yells, to drive all courage from the hearts 
of the defenders. 

Meanwhile, aid was approaching. The valor of 
the patriots, which fled at the first threat of danger, 
had returned. The enemy was now almost at their 
doors ; their helpless families might soon be at the 
mercy of the ruthless savages ; when General Her- 
kimer, a valiant veteran, called for recruits, armed 
men flocked in numbers to his standard. He was 



THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER. 195 

quickly at the head of more than eight hundred men. 
He sent a messenger to the fort, telling Gansevoort 
of his approach, and bidding him to discharge three 
signal-guns to show that the tidings had reached him. 
His small army was called to a halt within hearing 
of the guns of the fort, as he deemed it the part of 
prudence to await the signal before advancing on the 
foe. 

Unfortunately for the brave Herkimer, his men, 
lately over-timid, were now over-bold. His officers 
demanded to be led at once to the fort. Two of 
them. Cox and Paris by name, were impertinent in 
their demands, charging the veteran with cowardice. 

" I am placed over you as a father and guardian," 
answered Herkimer, calmly, " and shall not lead you 
into difficulties from which I may not be able to 
extricate you." 

But their importunities and taunts continued, and 
at length -the brave old man, angered by their insults, 
gave the word ^' March on !" He continued, "You, 
who want to fight so badly now, will be the first to 
run when you smell burnt powder." 

On they marched, in tumultuous haste, and with 
the lack of discipline of untrained militia. It was 
now August 6, two days after the beginning of the 
siege. Indian scouts lurked everywhere in the forest, 
and the movements of the patriot army were closely 
watched. St. Leger was informed of their near 
approach, and at once took steps to intercept their 
advance. 

Heedless of this, and of the cautious words of their 
commander, the vanguard pressed hastily on, wind- 



196 HISTORICAL TALES. 

ing along the road, and at length entering a deep, 
curving ravine, over whose marshy bottom the road- 
way was carried by a causeway of earth and logs. 
The borders of the ravine were heavily timbered, 
while a thick growth of underwood masked its sloping 
sides. 

Utterly without precaution, the militia pushed 
forward into this doubtful passage, until the whole 
body, with the exception of the rear-guard, had 
entered it. Behind them came the baggage-wagons. 
All was silent, unnaturally silent, for not even the 
chirp of a squirrel nor the rustle of a prowling ground- 
animal broke the stillness. The fort was not far dis- 
tant. The hurrying provincials hoped soon to join 
their beleaguered friends. 

Suddenly, from the wooded hill to the west, around 
which the ravine curved in a semicircle, rose a fright- 
ful sound, — the Indian war-whoop from hundreds of 
savage throats. Hardly had it fallen on the startled 
ears of the patriots when the sharp crack of mus- 
ketry followed, and leaden missiles were hurled into 
the crowded ranks. Arrows accompanied them, and 
spears and tomahawks came hurtling through the 
air, hurled with deadly aim. 

The patriot army had fallen into a dangerous am- 
buscade, Herkimer's prediction was fulfilled. The 
rear-guard, on hearing the warUke sounds in front, 
turned in panic flight, leaving their comrades to their 
fate. No one can regret to hear that they were pur- 
sued by the Indians, and suffered more than if they 
had stood their ground. 

As for the remainder of the force, flight was im- 



THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER. 197 

possible. They had entered a trap. It was fight or 
fall. Bullets, arrows, war-axes hurtled through their 
ra^ks. Frightful yells still filled the air. Many fell 
where they stood. Herkimer was severely wounded, 
his horse being killed and his own leg shattered. 
But, with a composure and cool courage that have 
rarely been emulated, he ordered the saddle to be taken 
from his horse and placed against a large beech-tree 
near by. Here seated, with his men falling and the 
bullets of the enemy whistling perilously near, he 
steadily gave his orders while many of those who 
had called him coward were in full flight. During 
the heat of the action he took his tinder box from 
his pocket, calmly lighted his pipe, and sat smoking 
as composedly as though by his own fireside. A 
striking spectacle, that old man, sitting in the midst 
of hottest battle, with the hfe blood oozing from his 
shattered leg, smoking and giving his orders with the 
quiet composure of one on dress-parade ! It is one 
of the most imposing pictures in the portrait-gallery 
of American history. 

The battle went on. If it was to be fight or fall, 
the brave frontiersmen decided it should be fight. 
Great confusion reigned at first, but courage soon 
returned, and though men fell in numbers, the sur- 
vivors stood their ground like veterans. For nearly 
an hour the fierce affray continued. The enemy sur- 
rounded the provincials on all sides, and were press- 
ing step by step closer. The whole force might have 
been slain or captured, but for a wise suggestion of 
one of their number and an admirable change in 
their line of battle. Each small group was formed 

17* 



198 HISTORICAL TALES. 

into a circle, and thus they met the enemy at all 
points. This greatly increased their defensive 
powers. So destructive now became their fire that 
the British soldiers rushed upon them in rage, seek- 
ing to break their line by a bayonet charge. They 
were boldly met, and a hand-to-hand death-struggle 
began. 

At this moment a heavy thunder-peal broke from 
the darkening skies. Down poured the rain in 
drenching showers. Lightning filled the air. Crash 
after crash of thunder rolled through the sky. 
Checked in their blood-thirst by the fury of the 
elements, the combatants hastily separated and ran 
for the shelter of the trees, vanquished by water 
where fire had failed to overcome their rage. 

The affair so far had not been unlike that of Brad- 
dock's defeat, some twenty years before. But these 
were American militia, not British regulars, fron- 
tiersmen who knew too much of Indian fighting to 
stand in their ranks and be shot down. They had 
long since taken to the trees, and fought the savages 
in their own way. To this, perhaps, may be ascribed 
the difference in result from that of the Braddock 
fight. 

After the rain, the patriots gained better ground 
and adopted new and useful tactics. Before, when 
the Indians noticed a shot from behind a tree, they 
would rush forward and tomahawk the unlucky 
provincial before he could reload. But now two 
men were placed behind each tree, so that when the 
whooping savage sprang forward with his tomahawk 
a second bullet was ready to welcome him. The firo 



THE SIEGE OP FORT SCHUYLER. 199 

from the American side now grew so destructive that 
the Indians began to give way. 

A body of Johnson's Greens came up to their 
support. These were mostly loyaHst refugees from 
the Mohawk Valley, to whom the patriot militia bore 
the bitterest enmity. Eecognizing them, the mad- 
dened provincials leaped upon them with tiger-like 
rage, and a hand-to-hand contest began, in which 
knives and bayonets took the place of bullets, and 
the contest grew brutally ferocious. 

At this moment a firing was heard in the direction 
of the fort. New hope sj)rung into the hearts of the 
patriots. Was aid coming to them from the garri- 
son ? It seemed so, indeed, for soon a body of men 
in Continental uniform came marching briskly to- 
wards them. It was a ruse on the part of the enemy 
which might have proved fatal. These men were 
Johnson Greens disguised as Continentals. A chance 
revealed their character. One of the patriots, seeing 
an acquaintance among them, ran up to shake hands 
with him. He was seized and dragged into their 
ranks. Captain Gardenier, perceiving this, sprang 
forward, spear in hand, and released his man ; but 
found himself in a moment engaged in a fierce com- 
bat, in which he killed two of his antagonists and 
wounded another, but was himself seriously hurt. 

" For God's sake, captain," cried some of the militia, 
"you are killing our own men !" 

" They are not our own men, they are Tories !" 
yelled back the captain. " Fire away !" 

Fire they did, and with such deadly effect that 
numbers of the disguised Tories fell, and nearly as 



200 HISTORICAL TALES. 

many Indians. In an instant the battle was violently 
raging again, with roar of rifles, clash of steel, yells 
of combatants, and the wild war-whoops of the 
savages. 

But the Indians by this time had enough of it. 
The stubborn defence of the provincials had sadly 
thinned their ranks, and seeing the Tories falling 
back, they raised their cry of retreat, " Oonah ! 
Oonah !" and at once broke and fled. The Tories 
and regulars, dismayed by their flight, quickly fol- 
lowed, the bullets of the provincials adding wings 
to their speed. 

Thus ended one of the hottest and most deadly, 
for the numbers engaged, of the battles of the Eevo- 
lution. Of the provincials, less than half of them 
ever saw their homes again. The loss of the enemy 
was probably still heavier. General Herkimer died 
ten days after the battle. The militia, despite the 
well-laid ambuscade into which they had marched, 
were the victors, but they had been so severely 
handled that they were unable to accomplish their 
design, the relief of the fort. 

As for the garrison, they had not been idle during 
the battle. The sound of the combat had been 
borne to their ears, and immediately after the cessa- 
tion of the rain Colonel TTillett made a sally from 
the fort, at the head of two hundred and fifty men. 
The camp of the enemy had been depleted for the 
battle, and the sortie proved highly successful. The 
remnants of Johnson's regiment were soon driven 
from their camp. The Indian encampment beyond 
was demohshed, its savage guards flying in terror 



THE SIEGE or FORT SCHUYLER. 201 

from " the Devil," by which expressive name they 
called Colonel Willett. Wagons were hurried from 
the fort, camp equipage, British flags, papers, and 
the eifects of the officers loaded into them, and 
twenty-one loads of this useful spoil triumphantly 
carried off. As the victorious force was returning, 
Colonel St. Leger appeared, with a strong body of 
men, across the river, just in time to be saluted by 
a shower of bullets, the provincials then retiring, 
without the loss of a man. The setting sun that 
day cast its last rays on five British standards, dis- 
played from the walls of the fort, with the stars and 
stripes floating proudly above them. The day had 
ended triumphantly for the provincials, though it 
proved unsuccessful in its main object ; for the fort 
was still invested, and the rescuing force were in no 
condition to come to its aid. 

The investment, indeed, was so close that the gar- 
rison knew nothing of the result of the battle. St. 
Leger took advantage of this, and sent a white flag 
to the fort with false information, declaring that 
the relief-party had been annihilated, that Burgoyne 
had reached and captured Albany, and that, unless 
the fort was surrendered, he could not much longer 
restrain the Indians from devastating the valley 
settlements with fire and tomahawk. 

This story Gansevoort did not half believe, and 
answered the messenger with words of severe repro- 
bation for his threat of an Indian foray. 

"After you get out of this fort," he concluded, 
" you may turn around and look at its outside, but 
never expect to come in again, unless as a prisoner. 



202 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Before I would consent to deliver this garrison to 
such a murdering set as your army, by your own 
account, consists of, I would suffer my body to be 
filled with splinters and set on fire, as you know has 
at times been practised by such hordes of women- 
and children-killers as belong to your army." 

After such a message there was no longer question 
of surrender, and the siege was strongly pushed. 
The enemy, finding that their guns had little effect 
on the sod-work of the fort, began a series of ap- 
proaches by sapping and mining. Colonel Ganse- 
voort, on his part, took an important step. Fearing 
that his stock of food and ammunition might give 
out, he determined to send a message to General 
Schuyler, asking for succor. 

Colonel Willett volunteered for this service. Lieu- 
tenant Stockwell joining him. The night chosen was 
a dark and stormy one. Shower followed shower. 
The sentinels of the enemy were not likely to be on 
the alert. Leaving the fort at the sally-port at ten 
o'clock, the two messengers crept on bands and knees 
along a morass till they reached the river. This 
they crossed on a log, and entered a dense wood 
which lay beyond. No sentinel had seen them. But 
they lost their way in the darkness, and straggled 
on blindly until the barking of a dog told them that 
they were near an Indian camp. 

Progress was now dangerous. Advance or retreat 
alike might throw them into the hands of the savage 
foe. For several hours they stood still, in a most 
annoying and perilous situation. The night passed ; 
dawn was at hand; fortunately now the clouds 



THE SIEGE OP FORT SCHUYLER. 203 

broke, the morning-star shone in the east, and with 
this as a guide they resumed their journey. Their 
expedition was still a dangerous one. The enemy 
might strike their trail in the morning light. To 
break this they now and then walked in the bed of 
a stream. They had set out on the night of the 
10th. All day of the 11th they pushed on, with 
a small store of crackers and cheese as their only 
food. Another night and day passed. On the 
afternoon of the 12th, nearly worn out with hard- 
ship, they reached the settlement of the German 
Flats. Here horses were procured, and they rode 
at full speed to Greneral Schuyler's head-quarters at 
Stillwater. 

Schuyler had already heard of Herkimer's failure, 
and was laying plans for the reUef of the fort. His 
purpose was opposed by many of his officers, who 
were filled with fear of the coming of Burgoyne. 
Schuyler was pacing the floor in anxious thought 
when he heard the low remark, — 

" He means to weaken the army." 

Schuyler turned towards the speaker, so angry 
that he bit into pieces a pipe he was smoking, and 
exclaimed, — 

" Gentlemen, I shall take the responsibility ; where 
is the brigadier that will take command of the relief ? 
I shall beat up for volunteers to-morrow." 

General Arnold, one of the boldest and most im- 
pulsive men in the army, immediately asked for the 
command. The next morning the drums beat, and 
before noon eight hundred volunteers were enrolled. 
Arnold at once advanced, but, feeling that his force 



20J: HISTORICAL TALES. 

was too weak, stopped at Fort Dayton till reinforce- 
ments could reach him. 

And now occurred one of the most striking events 
in the history of the war, that of the defeat of an 
invading army by stratagem without sight of soldier 
or musket. It is to be told from two points of view, 
that of the garrison, and that of the army of relief. 
As regards the garrison, its situation was becoming 
critical. St. Leger's parallels were approaching the 
fort. The store of provisions was running low. 
Many of the garrison began to hint at surrender, 
fearing massacre by the Indians should the fort be 
taken by assault. Gansevoort, despairing of further 
successful resistance, had decided upon a desperate 
attempt to cut through the enemy's lines. Suddenly, 
on the 22d, there came a sudden lull in the siege. 
The guns ceased their fire ; quick and confused 
movements could be seen ; there were signs of flight. 
Away went the besiegers, Indians and whites alike, 
in panic disarray, and with such haste that their 
tents, artillery, and camp equipage were left behind. 
The astonished garrison sallied forth to find not a 
foeman in the field, yet not a sign to show what mys- 
terious influence had caused this headlong flight. It 
was not from the face of an enemy, for no enemy 
was visible, and the mystery was too deep for the 
garrison to fathom. 

To learn the cause of this strange event we must 
return to Arnold and his stratagem. He had, on 
learning the peril of the fort, been about to advance 
despite the smallness of his force, when an opportu- 
nity occurred to send terror in advance of his march. 



THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER. 205 

There were in his hands several Tory prisoners, 
among them an ignorant, coarse, half-idiotic fellow 
named Hon- Yost Schuyler, who had been condemned 
to death for treason. His mother pleaded for his 
life, casting herself on her knees before Arnold, and 
imploring for her son with tears and entreaties. She 
found him at first inexorable, but he changed his 
tone and appeared to soften as a fortunate idea came 
to his mind. 

Her son's life should be spared, but upon condi- 
tions. These were, that he should go to Fort Schuy- 
ler and, by stories of the immense force upon the 
march, endeavor to alarm St. Leger. Hon Yost 
readily consented, leaving his brother as a hostage 
in Arnold's hands. 

The seemingly foolish fellow was far from being 
an idiot. Before leaving the camp he had several 
bullet-holes shot through his coat. He arranged 
also with' a friendly Oneida Indian to follow and con- 
firm his tale. Thus prepared, he set out for St. Leger' s 
camp. Beaching it, he ran breathlessly among the 
Indians, seemingly in a state of terror. Many of 
the savages knew him, and he was eagerly ques- 
tioned as to what had happened. 

The Americans were coming, he replied ; numbers 
of them, hosts of them; he had barely escaped 
with his life ; he had been riddled with bullets. He 
pointed to his coat in evidence. How many were 
there ? he was asked. Hon-Yost, in reply, shook his 
head mysteriously, and pointed to the leaves on the 
trees. 

His seeming alarm communicated itself to the In- 

18 



206 HISTORICAL TALES. 

dians. They had been severely dealt with at Oris- 
kany. The present siege dragged on. They were 
dissatisfied. While the chiefs debated and talked of 
flight, the Oneida appeared, with several others of 
his tribe whom he had picked up on the way. These 
told the same story. A bii'd had brought them the 
news. The valley was swarming with soldiers. The 
army of Burgoyne had been cut to pieces, said one. 
Arnold had three thousand men, said another. 
Others pointed to the leaves, as Hon- Yost had done, 
and meaningly shook their heads. 

The panic spread among the Indians. St. Leger 
stormed at them ; Johnson pleaded with them ; but 
all in vain. Drink was offered them, but they re 
fused it. " The pow-wow said we must go," was 
their answer to every remonstrance, and go they 
did. 

" You said there would be no fighting for us In- 
dians," said a chief " We might go down and smoke 
our pipes. But many of our warriors have been 
killed, and you mean to sacrifice us all." 

Oaths and persuasions proved alike useless. The 
council broke up and the Indians took to flight. 
Their panic communicated itself to the whites. 
Dropping everything but their muskets, they fled in 
terror for their boats on Oneida Lake, with such 
haste that many of them threw away arms and 
knapsacks in their mad flight. 

The Indians, who had started the panic, grew 
merry on seeing the wild terror of their late allies. 
They ran behind them, shouting, " They are coming, 
they are coming!" and thus added wings to their 



THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER. 207 

flight. They robbed, stripped, and even killed many 
of them, plundered them of their b^ats, and proved 
a more formidable foe than the enemy from whom 
they fled. 

Half-starved and empty handed, the whites hurried 
to Oswego and took boat on the lake for Montreal, 
while their Indian allies, who had proved of more 
harm than good, went merrily home to their 
villages, looking upon the flight as a stupendous 
joke. 

When Arnold, hearing of what had happened, 
hurried to the fort, the enemy had utterly vanished, 
except a few whom Gansevoort's men had brought 
in as prisoners. Hon- Yost soon came back, having 
taken the first opportunity to slip away from the fly- 
ing horde. He had amply won his pardon. 

Thus ended the siege of Fort Schuyler ; in its way, 
considering the numbers engaged, the most desperate 
and bloody struggle of the Eevolution, and of the 
greatest utility as an aid to the subsequent defeat of 
Burgoyne. As regards its singular termination, it 
is without parallel in the history of American wars. 
Hon- Yost had proved himself the most surprising 
idiot on record. 



ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR. 

While Major Andre was dying the death of a spy, 
General Arnold, his tempter and betrayer, was living 
the life of a cherished traitor, in the midst of the 
British army at New York. This was a state of 
affairs far from satisfactory to the American authori- 
ties. The tool had suffered ; the schemer had escaped. 
Could Arnold be captured, and made to pay the 
penalty of his treason, it would be a sharp lesson of 
retribution to any who might feel disposed to follow 
his base example. 

Washington had his secret correspondents in New 
York, and from them had learned that Arnold was 
living in quarters adjoining those of Sir Henry 
Clinton, at but a short distance from the river, and 
apparently with no thought of or precaution against 
danger. It might be possible to seize him and carry 
him away bodily from the midst of his new friends. 

Sending for Major Henry Lee, a brave and shrewd 
cavalry leader, Washington broached to him this 
important matter, and submitted a plan of action 
which seemed to him to promise success. 

" It is a delicate and dangerous project," he said. 
" Much depends on our finding an agent fit for such 
hazardous work. You may have the man in your 
208 



ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR. 209 

corps. Whoever volunteers for this duty will lay me 
under the greatest personal obligation, and may ex- 
pect an ample reward. But no time is to be lost. 
He must proceed, if possible, tonight." 

" Not only courage and daring, but very peculiar 
talent, are needed for such an enterprise," said Lee. 
" I have plenty of brave men, but can think of only 
one whom I can recommend for such a duty as this. 
His name is John Champe ; his rank, sergeant-major ; 
but there is one serious obstacle in the way, — he must 
appear to desert, and I fear that Champe has too 
high a sense of military honor for that." 

"Try him," said Washington. "The service he 
will do to his country far outweighs anything he can 
do in the ranks. Eumor says that other officers of 
high rank are ready to follow Arnold's example. If 
we can punish this traitor, he will have no imitators." 

" I can try," answered Lee. " I may succeed. 
Champe is not without ambition, and the object to be 
attained is a great one. I may safely promise him 
the promotion which he ardently desires." 

" That will be but part of his reward," said Wash- 
ington. 

Lee sent for Champe. There entered in response 
a young man, large and muscular of build, saturnine 
of countenance ; a grave, thoughtful, silent person, 
safe to trust with a secret, for his words were few, 
his sense of honor high. In all the army there was 
not his superior in courage and persistence in any- 
thing he should undertake. 

It was no agreeable surprise to the worthy fellow 
to learn what he was desired to do. The plan was 
I.— 18* 



210 HISTORICAL TALES. 

an admirable one, he admitted ; it promised the best 
results. He did not care for peril, and was ready to 
venture on anything that would not involve his 
honor ; but to desert from his corps, to win the scorn 
and detestation of his fellows, to seem to play the 
traitor to his country, — these were serious obstacles. 
He begged to be excused. 

Lee combated his objections. Success promised 
honor to himself and to his corps, the gratitude of 
his country, the greatest service to his beloved com- 
mander-in-chief. Desertion, for such a purpose, car- 
ried with it no dishonor, and any stain upon his 
character would vanish when the truth became 
known. The conference was a long one ; in the end 
Lee's arguments proved efficacious ; Champe yielded, 
and promised to undertake the mission. 

The necessary instructions had already been pre- 
pared by Washington himself. The chosen agent 
was to deliver letters to two persons in New York, 
who were in Washington's confidence, and who would 
lend him their assistance. He was to use his own 
judgment in procuring aid for the capture of Arnold, 
and to lay such plans as circumstances should suggest; 
and he was strictly enjoined not to kill the traitor 
under any circumstances. 

All this settled, the question of the difficulties in 
the way arose. Between the American camp and 
the British outpost were many pickets and patrols. 
Parties of marauding patriots, like those that had 
seized Andre, might be in the way. Against these 
Lee could oifer no aid. The desertion must seem a 
real one. All he could do would be to delay pursuit. 



ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR. 211 

For the rest, Champe must trust to his own skill and 
daring. 

Eleven o'clock was the hour fixed. At that hour 
the worthy sergeant, taking his cloak, valise, and 
orderly -book, and with three guineas in his pocket, 
which Lee had given him, secretly mounted his horse 
and slipped quietly from the camp. 

Lee immediately went to bed, and seemingly to 
sleep, though he had never been more wide awake. 
A half-hour passed. Then a heavy tread was heard 
outside the major's quarters, and a loud knock came 
upon his door. It was some time before he could be 
aroused. 

" Who is there ?" he asked, in sleepy tones. 

" It is I, Captain Carnes," was the reply. " I am 
here for orders. One of our patrols has just fallen 
in with a dragoon, who put spurs to his horse on 
being challenged, and fled at full speed. He is a 
deserter, and must be pursued." 

Lee still seemed half asleep. He questioned the 
officer in a drowsy way, affecting not to understand 
him. When at length the captain's purpose was 
made clear to his seemingly drowsy wits, Lee ridiculed 
the idea that one of his men had deserted. Such a 
thing had hapj)ened but once during the whole war. 
He could not believe it possible. 

" It has happened now," persisted Captain Carnes. 
" The fellow is a deserter, and must be pursued." 

Lee still affected incredulity, and was with diffi- 
culty brought to order that the whole squadron 
should be mustered, to see if any of them were 
missing. This done, there was no longer room for 



212 HISTORICAL TALES. 

doubt or delay. Champe, the sergeant-major, was 
gone, and with him his arms, baggage, and orderly- 
book. 

Captain Carnes ordered that pursuit should be 
made at once. Here, too, Lee made such delay as he 
could without arousing suspicion ; and when the pur- 
suing party was ready he changed its command, 
giving it to Lieutenant Middleton, a tender-hearted 
young man, whom he could trust to treat Champe 
mercifully if he should be overtaken. These various 
delays had the desired effect. By the time the party 
started, Champe had been an hour on the road. 

It was past twelve o'clock of a starry night when 
Middleton and his men took to horse, and galloped 
away on the track of the deserter. It was a plain 
track, unluckily; a trail that a child might have 
followed. There had been a shower at sunset, sharp 
enough to wash out all previous hoof-marks from 
the road. The footprints of a single horse were all 
that now appeared. In addition to this, the horse- 
shoes of Lee's legion had a private mark, by which 
they could be readily recognized. There could be 
no question ; those footprints were made by the 
horse of the deserter. 

Here was a contingency unlocked for by Lee. 
The pursuit could be pushed on at full speed. At 
every fork or cross-road a trooper sprang quickly 
from his horse and examined the trail. It needed 
but a glance to discover what road had been taken. 
On they went, with scarce a moment's loss of time, 
and with sure knowledge that they were on the 
fugitive's track. 



ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR. 213 

At sunrise the pursuing party found themselves 
at the top of a ridge in the road, near the " Three 
Pigeons," a road-side tavern several miles north of 
the village of Bergen. Looking ahead, their eyes 
fell on the form of the deserter. He was but half 
a mile in advance. They had gained on him greatly 
during the night. 

At the same moment Champe perceived them. 
Eoth parties sj)uiTed their horses to greater speed, 
and away went fugitive and pursuers at a rattling 
pace. The roads in that vicinity were well known 
to them all. There was a short cut through the 
woods from near the Three Pigeons to the bridge 
below Bergen. Middleton sent part of his men by 
this route to cut off the fugitive, while he followed 
the main road with the rest. He felt sure now that 
he had the deserter, for he could not reach the Brit- 
ish outposts without crossing the bridge. 

On they went. No long time elapsed before the 
two divisions met at the bridge. But Champe was 
not between them. The trap had been sprung, but 
had failed to catch its game. He had in some strange 
manner disappeared. What was to be done ? How 
had he eluded them ? 

Middleton rode hastily back to Bergen, and in- 
quired if a dragoon had passed through the village 
that morning. 

" Yes ; and not long ago." 

« Which way did he go ?" 

" That we cannot say. No one took notice." 

Middleton examined the road. Other horses had 
been out that morning, and the Lee corps footprint 



214 HISTORICAL TALES. 

was no longer to be seen. But at a short distance 
from the village the trail again became legible and 
the pursuit was resumed. In a few minutes Champe 
was discovered. He had reached a point near the 
water's edge, and was making signals to certain Brit- 
ish galleys which lay in the stream. 

The truth was that the fugitive knew of the short 
cut quite as well as his pursuers, and had shrewdly 
judged that they would take it, and endeavor to cut 
him off before he could reach the enemy's lines at 
Paulus Hook. He knew, besides, that two of the 
king's galleys lay in the bay, a mile from Bergen, 
and in front of the small settlement of Communipaw. 
Hither he directed his course, lashing his valise, as 
he went, upon his back, 

Champe now found himself in imminent peril of 
capture. There had been no response from the gal- 
leys to his signals. The pursuers were close at hand, 
and pushing forward with shouts of triumph. Soon 
they were but a few hundred yards away. There was 
but one hope left. Champe sprang from his horse, 
flung away the scabbard of his sword, and with the 
naked blade in his hand ran across the marshy ground 
before him, leaped into the waters of the bay, and 
swam lustily for the galleys, calling loudly for help. 

A boat had just before left the side of the nearest 
galley. As the pursuers reined up their horses by 
the side of the marsh, the fugitive was hauled in and 
was swiftly rowed back to the ship. Middleton, 
disappointed in his main object, took the horse, cloak, 
and scabbard of the fugitive and returned with 
them to camp. 



ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR. 215 

" He has not been killed ?" asked Lee, hastily, on 
seeing these articles. 

" No ; the rascal gave us the slip. He is safely 
on a British galley, and this is all we have to show." 

A few days afterwards Lee received a letter from 
Champe, in a disguised hand and without signature, 
transmitted through a secret channel which had been 
arranged, telling of his success up to this point, and 
what he proposed to do. 

As it appeared, the seeming deserter had been well 
received in New York. The sharpness of the pursuit 
and the orderly book which he bore seemed satisfac- 
tory proofs of his sincerity of purpose. The captain 
of the galley sent him to New York, with a letter to 
Sir Henry Clinton. 

Clinton was glad to see him. For a deserter to 
come to him from a legion so faithful to the rebel 
cause as that of Major Lee seemed an evidence that 
the American side was rapidly weakening. He ques- 
tioned Champe closely. The tacticurn deserter an- 
swered him briefly, but with such a show of sincerity 
as to win his confidence. The interview ended in 
CHnton's giving him a couple of guineas, and bidding 
him to call on General Arnold, who was forming a 
corps of loyalists and deserters, and who would be 
glad to have his name on his rolls. This sugges- 
tion hit Champe's views exactly. It was what had 
been calculated upon by Washington in advance. 
The seeming deserter called upon Arnold, who re- 
ceived him courteously, and gave him quarters among 
his recruiting sergeants. He asked him to join his 
legion, but Champe declined, saying that if caught 



216 HISTORICAL TALES. 

by the rebels in this corps he was sure to be 
hanged. 

A few days sufficed the secret agent to lay his plans. 
He delivered the letters which had been given hini, and 
made arrangements with one of the parties written 
to for aid in the proposed abduction of Arnold. This 
done, he went to Arnold, told him that he had changed 
his mind, and agreed to enlist in his legion. His pur- 
pose now was to gain free intercourse with him, that 
he might learn all that was possible about his habits. 

Arnold's quarters were at No. 3 Broadway. Back 
of the house was a garden, which extended towards 
the water's edge. Champe soon learned that it was 
Arnold's habit to seek his quarters about midnight, 
and that before going to bed he always visited the 
garden. Adjoining this garden was a dark alley, 
which led to the street. In short, all the surround- 
ings and circumstances were adapted to the design, 
and seemed to promise success. 

The plan was well laid. Two patriotic accomplices 
were found. One of them was to have a boat in 
readiness by the river-side. On the night fixed upon 
they were to conceal themselves in Arnold's garden 
at midnight, seize and gag him when he came out 
for his nightly walk, and take him by way of the 
alley, and of unfrequented streets in the vicinity, to 
the adjoining river-side. In case of meeting any one 
and being questioned, it was arranged that they 
should profess to be carrying a drunken soldier to 
the guard-house. Once in the boat, Hoboken could 
quickly be reached. Here assistance from Lee's corps 
had been arranged for. 



ON THE TRACK Or A TRAITOIL 217 

The plot was a promising one. Champe prepared 
for it by removing some of the palings between the 
garden and the alley. These he replaced in such a 
way that they could be taken out again without noise. 
All being arranged, he wrote to Lee, and told him 
that on the third night from that date, if all went 
well, the traitor would be delivered upon the Jersey 
shore. He must be present, at an appointed place 
in the woods at Hoboken, to receive him. 

This information gave Lee the greatest satisfaction. 
On the night in question he left camp with a small 
party, taking with him three led horses, for the 
prisoner and his captors, and at midnight sought the 
appointed spot. Here he waited with slowly declin- 
ing hope. Hour after hour passed; the gray light 
of dawn appeared in the east ; the sun rose over the 
waters ; yet Champe and his prisoner failed to 
appear. Deeply disappointed, Lee led his party back 
to camp. 

The cause of the failure may be told in a few 
words. It was a simple one. The merest chance 
saved Arnold from the fete which he so richly mer- 
ited. This was, that on the very day which Champe 
had fixed for the execution of his plot, Arnold 
changed his quarters, his purpose being to attend to 
the embarkation of an expedition to the south, which 
was to be under his command. 

In a few days Lee received a letter from his agent, 
telling the cause of failure, and saying that, at pres- 
ent, success was hopeless. In fact, Champe found 
himself unexpectedly in an awkward situation. Ar- 
nold's American legion was to form part of this 
K 19 



218 HISTORICAL TALES. 

expedition. Champe had enlisted in it. He was 
caught in a trap of his own setting. Instead of 
crossing the Hudson that night, with Arnold as his 
prisoner, he found himself on board a British trans- 
port, with Arnold as his commander. He was in for 
the war on the British side ; forced to face his fellow- 
countrymen in the field. 

We need not tell the story of Arnold's expedition 
to Yirginia, with the brutal incidents which history 
relates concerning it. It will suffice to say that 
Champe formed part of it, all his efforts to desert 
proving fruitless. It may safely be said that no 
bullet from his musket reached the American ranks, 
but he was forced to brave death from the hands of 
those with whom alone he was in sympathy. 

Not until Arnold's corps had joined Cornwallis at 
Petersburg did its unwilling recruit succeed in es- 
caping. Taking to the mountains, he made his way 
into North Carolina, and was not long in finding 
himself among friends. His old corps was in that 
State, taking part in the pursuit of Lord Rawdon. 
It had just passed the Congaree in this pursuit when, 
greatly to the surprise of his old comrades, the de- 
serter appeared in their ranks. Their surprise was 
redoubled when they saw Major Lee receive him 
with the utmost cordiality. A few minutes sufficed 
to change their surprise to admiration. There was 
no longer occasion for secrecy. Champe's story was 
told, and was received with the utmost enthusiasm 
by his old comrades. So this was the man they had 
pursued so closely, this man who had been seeking 
to put the arch-traitor within their hands! John 



ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR. 219 

Champe, they declared, was a comrade to be proud 
of, and his promotion to a higher rank was the plain 
duty of the military authorities. 

Washington knew too well, however, what would 
be the fate of his late agent, if taken by the enemy, 
to subject him to this peril. He would have been 
immediately hanged. Champe was, therefore, dis- 
charged from the service, after having been richly 
rewarded by the commander-in-chief When Wash- 
ington, seventeen years afterwards, was preparing 
against a threatened war with the French, he sent 
to Lee for information about Champe, whom he de- 
sired to make a captain of infantry. He was too 
late. The gallant sergeant-major had joined a higher 
corps. He had enlisted in the grand army of the 
dead. 



MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX. 

OtJR story takes us back to the summer of 1780, a 
summer of war, suffering, and outrage in the States 
of the South. General Gates, at the head of the 
army of the South, was marching towards Camden, 
South Carolina, filled with inflated hopes of meeting 
and defeating Cornwallis. How this hopeful general 
was himself defeated, and how, in consequence, the 
whole country south of Virginia fell under British 
control, history relates \ we are not here concerned 
with it. 

Gates's army had crossed the Pedee Eiver and 
was pushing southward. During its march a cir- 
cumstance occurred which gave great amusement 
to the trim soldiery. There joined the army a vol- 
unteer detachment of about twenty men, such a 
heterogeneous and woe-begone corps that Falstaff 
himself might have hesitated before enlisting them. 
They were a mosaic of whites and blacks, men and 
boys, their clothes tatters, their equipments bur- 
lesques on military array, their horses — for they 
were all mounted — parodies on the noble war-charger. 
At the head of this motley array was a small-sized, 
thin-faced, modest-looking man, his uniform superior 
to that of his men, but no model of neatness, yet 
220 



MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX. 221 

with a flashing spirit in his eye that admonished 
the amused soldiers not to laugh at his men in his 
presence. Behind his back they laughed enough. 
The Pedee volunteers were a source of ridicule to 
the well-clad Continentals that might have caused 
trouble had not the officers used every effort to re- 
press it. 

As for Gates, he offered no welcome to this ragged 
squad. The leader modestly offered him some advice 
about the military condition of the South, but the 
general in command was clothed in too dense an 
armor of conceit to be open to advice from any quar- 
ter, certainly not from the leader of such a Fal- 
staffian company, and he was glad enough to get rid 
of him by sending him on a scouting expedition in 
advance of the army, to watch the enemy and report 
his movements. 

This service precisely suited him to whom it was 
given, foi* this small, non-intrusive personage was no 
less a man than Francis Marion, then but little known, 
but destined to become the Eobin Hood of partisan 
warriors, the celebrated " Swamp-Fox" of historical 
romance and romantic history. 

Marion had appeared with the title of colonel. 
He left the army with the rank of general. Gov- 
ernor Eutledge, who was present, knew him and his 
worth, gave him a brigadier's commission, and au- 
thorized him to enlist a brigade for guerilla work 
in the swamps and forests of the State. 

Thus raised in rank, Marion marched away with 
his motley crew of followers, they doubtless greatly 
elevated in dignity to feel that they had a general at 

19^ 



222 HISTORICAL TALES. 

their head. The army indulged in a broad laugh, 
after they had gone, at Marion's miniature brigade 
of scarecrows. They laughed at the wrong man, 
for after their proud array was broken and scattered 
to the winds, and the region they had marched to 
relieve had become the prey of the enemy, that 
modest partisan alone was to keep ahve the fire of 
liberty in South Carolina, and so annoy the victors 
that in the end they hardly dared show their faces 
out of their forts. The Swamp-Fox was to pave the 
way for the reconquest of the South by the brave 
General Greene. 

'No long time elapsed before Marion increased his 
disreputable score to a brigade of more respectable 
proportions, with which he struck such quick and 
tellino^ blows from all sides on the British and Tories, 
that no nest of hornets could have more dismayed a 
marauding party of boys. The sw^amps of the Pedee 
were his head-quarters. In their interminable and 
thicket-hidden depths he found hiding-places in 
abundance, and from them he made rapid darts, north, 
south, east, and west, making his presence felt wher- 
ever he appeared, and flying back to shelter before his 
pursuers could overtake him. His corps was con- 
stantly changing, now swelling, now shrinking, now 
little larger than his original ragged score, now grown 
to a company of a hundred or more in dimensions. 
It was always small. The swamps could not furnish 
shelter and food for any large body of men. 

Marion's head-quarters were at Snow's Island, at 
the point where Lynch's Creek joins the Pedee River. 
This was a region of high river-swamp, thickly for- 



MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX. 223 

ested, and abundantly supplied with game. The 
camp was on dry land, but around it spread broad 
reaches of wet thicket and canebrake, whose paths 
were known only to the partisans, and their secrets 
sedulously preserved. As regards the mode of life 
here of Marion and his men, there is an anecdote 
which will picture it better than pages of descrip- 
tion. 

A young British officer was sent from Georgetown 
to treat with Marion for an exchange of prisoners. 
The Swamp-Fox fully approved of the interview, 
being ready enough to rid himself of his captives, 
who were a burden on his hands. But he was too 
shrewd to lay bare the ways that led to his camp. 
The officer was blindfolded, and led by devious paths 
through canebrake, thicket, and forest to the hidden 
camp. On the removal of the bandage from his eyes 
he looked about him with admiration and surprise. 
He found himself in a scene worthy of Eobin Hood's 
woodland band. Above him spread the boughs of 
magnificent trees, laden with drooping moss, and 
hardly letting a ray of sunhght through their crowd- 
ing foliage. Around him rose their massive trunks, like 
the columns of some vast cathedral. On the grassy 
or moss-clad ground sat or lay groups of hardy- 
looking men, no two of them dressed alike, and with 
none of the neat appearance of uniformed soldiers. 
More remote were their horses, cropping the short 
herbage in equine contentment. It looked like a 
camp of forest outlaws, jovial tenants of the merry 
green woods. 

The surprise of the officer was not lessened when 



224 HISTORICAL TALES. 

his eyes fell on Marion, whom he had never seen 
before. It may be that he expected to gaze on a 
burly giant. As it was, he could scarcely believe that 
this diminutive, quiet-looking man, and this handful 
of ill-dressed and lounging followers, were the cele- 
brated band who had thrown the whole British power 
in the South into alarm. 

Marion addressed him, and a conference ensued in 
which their business was quickly arranged to their 
mutual satisfaction. 

" And now, my dear sir," said Marion, " I should 
be glad to have you dine with me. You have fasted 
during your journey, and will be the better for a 
woodland repast." 

" With pleasure," replied the officer. " It will be a 
new and pleasant experience." 

He looked around him. Where was the dining- 
room ? where, at least, the table, on which their mid- 
day repast was to be spread ? Where were the 
dishes and the other paraphernalia which civilization 
demands as the essentials of a modern dinner? — 
Where ? His eyes found no answer to this mental 
question. Marion looked at him with a smile. 

"We dine here in simple style, captain," he re- 
marked. " Pray be seated." 

He took his seat on a mossy log, and pointed to an 
opposite one for the officer. A minute or two after- 
wards the camp purveyor made his appearance, bear- 
ing a large piece of bark, on which smoked some 
roasted sweet potatoes. They came from a fire of 
brushwood blazing at a distance. 

"Help yourself, captain," said Marion, taking a 



MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX. 225 

swollen and brown-coated potato from the impromptu 
platter, breaking it in half, and beginning to eat with 
a forest appetite. 

The officer looked at the viands and at his host 
with eyes of wonder. 

" Surely, general," he exclaimed, " this cannot be 
your ordinary fare ?" 

" Indeed it is," said Marion. " And we are fortu- 
nate, on this occasion, having company to entertain, 
to have more than our usual allowance." 

The officer had little more to say. He helped 
himself to the rural viands, which he ate with 
thought for salt. On returning to Georgetown he 
gave in his report, and then tendered his commission 
to his superior officer, saying that a people who could 
fight on roots for fare could not be, and ought not to 
be, subdued, and that he, for one, would not serve 
against them. 

Of the exploits of Marion we can but speak 
briefly ; they were too many to be given in detail. 
His blows were so sharply dealt, in such quick suc- 
cession, and at such remote points, that his foes 
were puzzled, and could hardly believe that a single 
band was giving them all this trouble. Their annoy- 
ance culminated in their sending one of their best 
cavalry leaders. Colonel Wemyss, to surprise and 
crush the Swamp-Fox, then far from his hiding place. 
Wemyss got on Marion's trail, and pursued him with 
impetuous haste. But the wary patriot was not to 
be easily surprised, nor would he fight where he had 
no chance to win. Northward he swiftly made his 
way, through swamps and across deep streams, into 
i.—p 



226 HISTORICAL TALES. 

North Carolina. Wemyss lost his trail, found it, 
lost it again, and finally, discouraged and revenge- 
ful, turned back and desolated the country from 
which he had driven its active defender, and which 
was looked on as the hot-bed of rebellion. 

Marion, who had but sixty men in his band, halted 
the moment pursuit ceased, sent out scouts for in- 
formation, and in a very short time was back in the 
desolated district. The people rushed, with horse 
and rifle, to his ranks. Swiftly he sped to the Black 
Mingo, below Georgetown, and here fell at midnight 
on a large body of Tories, with such vigor and 
success that the foe were almost annihilated, while 
Marion lost but a single man. 

The devoted band now had a short period of rest, 
the British being discouraged and depressed. Then 
Tarleton, the celebrated hard-riding marauder, took 
upon himself the difficult task of crushing the Swamp- 
Fox. He scoured the country, spreading ruin as he 
went, but all his skill and impetuosity were useless 
in the effort to overtake Marion. The patriot leader 
was not even to be driven from his chosen region of 
operations, and he managed to give his pursuer some 
unwelcome reminders of his presence. At times 
Tarleton would be within a few miles of him, and 
full of hope of overtaking him before the next day's 
dawn. But, while he was thus lulled to security, 
Marion would be watching him from the shadows of 
some dark morass, and at midnight the British rear 
or flank would feel the sharp bite of the Swamp- 
Fox's teeth. In the end, Tarleton withdrew discom- 
fited from the pursuit, with more hard words 



MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX. 227 

against this fellow, who " would not fight like a gen- 
tleman or a Christian," than he had ever been able 
to give him hard blows. 

Tarleton withdrawn, Marion resumed all his old 
activity, his audacity reaching the extent of making 
an attack on the British garrison at Georgetown. 
This was performed in coDJunction with Major Lee, 
who had been sent by General Greene to Marion's aid. 
Lee had no httle trouble to find him. The active 
partisan was so constantly moving about, now in 
deep swamps, now far from his lurking-places, that 
friend and foe alike were puzzled to trace his move- 
ments. They met at last, however, and made a mid- 
night attack on Georgetown, unsuccessful, as it 
proved, yet sufiicient to redouble the alarm of the 
enemy. 

In the spring of 1781 we find Colonel Watson, 
with a force of five hundred men, engaged in the 
difiicult task of " crushing Marion." He found him, 
— unlike his predecessors, — but, as it proved, to his 
own cost. Marion was now at Snow's Island, whence 
he emerged to strike a quick succession of heavy 
blows at such different points that he appeared to 
be ubiquitous. His force met that of Watson unex- 
pectedly, and a fight ensued. Watson had the advan- 
tage of field-pieces, and Marion was obliged to fall 
back. Eeaching a bridge over the Black Eiver, he 
checked his pursuers with telling volleys long enough 
to burn the bridge. Then a peculiar contest took 
place. The two forces marched down the stream, 
one on each side, for ten miles, skirmishing across the 
water all the way. Darkness ended the fight. The 



228 HISTORICAL TALES. 

two camps were pitched near together. For ten 
days Watson remained there, not able to get at Marion, 
and so annoyed by the constant raids of his active 
foe that in the end he made a midnight flight to 
escape destruction in detail. Marion pursued, and 
did him no small damage in the flight. Watson's 
only solace was the remark, already quoted, that his 
troublesome foe would not " fight like a gentleman 
or a Christian." 

Major Lee tells an amusing story of an incident 
that happened to himself, on his march in search of 
Marion. He had encamped for the night on Drown- 
ing Creek, a branch of the Pedee. As morning ap- 
proached, word was brought to the officer of the 
day that noises were heard in front of the pickets, 
in the direction of the creek. They seemed like the 
stealthy movements of men. ]!*^ow a sentinel fired, 
the bugles sounded for the horse patrols to come in, 
and the whole force was quickly got ready for the 
coming enemy. But no enemy appeared. Soon 
after another sentinel fired, and word came that an 
unseen foe was moving in the swamp. The troops 
faced in this direction, and waited anxiously for the 
coming of dawn. Suddenly the line of sentinels in 
their rear fired in succession. The enemy had un- 
doubtedly gained the road behind them, and were 
marching on them from that direction. The line 
again faced round. Lee went along it, telling his 
men that there was nothing left but to fight, and bid- 
ding them to sustain the high reputation which they 
had long since won. The cavalry were ordered not to 
pursue a flying force, for the country was well suited 



MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX. 229 

for concealment, and they might be tempted into an 
ambuscade. 

When day broke the whole column advanced with 
great caution, infantry in front, baggage in centre, 
cavalry in rear. Where was the foe ? None ap- 
peared. The van officer carefully examined the road 
for an enemy's trail. To his surprise and amusement, 
he found only the tracks of a large pack of wolves. 

These animals had been attempting to pass the 
camp at point after point, turned from each point by 
the fire of the sentinels, and trying the line on all 
sides. Great merriment followed, in which pickets, 
patrols, and the officer of the day were made the 
butt of the ridicule of the whole force. 

We shall close with one interesting story in which 
Marion played the leading part, but which is distin- 
guished by an example of womanly patriotism worthy 
of the highest praise. The mansion of Mrs. Eebecca 
Motte, a rich widow of South Carolina, had been 
taken possession of by the British authorities, she 
being obliged to take up her residence in a farm-house 
on her lands. The large mansion was converted into 
a fort, and surrounded by a deep ditch and a high 
parapet. A garrison of one hundred and fifty men, 
under Captain McPherson, was stationed here, the 
place being re-named Fort Motte. 

This stronghold was attacked, in May, 1781, by 
Marion and Lee, then in conjunction. Lee took 
position at the farm-house, and posted his men on 
the declivity of the plain on which the fort stood. 
Marion cast up a mound, placed on it the six-pounder 
they had brought with them, and prepared to assail 

20 



230 HISTORICAL TALES. 

the parapet while Lee made his approaches. McPher- 
son had no artillery. 

Their approaches were iQade by a trench from an 
adjacent ravine. In a few days they were near 
enough to be justified in demanding a surrender. 
McPherson refused. The same evening word reached 
the Americans that Lord Eawdon was approaching. 
On the following night the light of his camp-fires 
could be seen on the neighboring hills of the Santee. 
The garrison saw them as well as the assailants, and 
were filled with renewed hope. 

What was to be done ? The besiegers must suc- 
ceed quickly or retreat. Lee was not long in de- 
vising an expedient. The mansion of Mrs. Motte 
was shingled and the shingles very dry. There had 
been no rain for several days, and the sun had 
poured its rays warmly upon them. They might be 
set on fire. Lee suggested this to Mrs. Motte, with 
much dread as to how she would receive it. Her 
acquiescence was so cheerful that his mind was re- 
lieved. The patriotic woman expressed herself as 
ready to make any sacrifice for her country. 

Lee told his plan to Marion, who warmly ap- 
proved it. It was proposed to do the work by 
means of arrows carrying flaming combustibles. As 
it proved, however, the only bows and arrows they 
could find in the camp were very inferior articles. 

" They will never do," said Mrs. Motte. " I can pro- 
vide you with much better. I have in the house an 
excellent bow and a bundle of arrows, which came 
from the East Indies. They are at your service." 

She hastened from the room, and quickly returned 



MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX. 231 

with the weapons, which she handed to Lee as cheer- 
fully as though she looked for some special benefit 
to herself from their use. "Word was sent to 
McPherson of what was intended, and that Eawdon 
had not yet crossed the Santee. Immediate sur- 
render would save many lives. The bold com- 
mandant still refused. 

At midday, from the shelter of the ditch, Nathan 
Savage, one of Marion's men, shot several flaming 
arrows at the roof. Two of them struck the dry 
shingles. Almost instantly these were in a flame. 
The fire crept along the roof. Soldiers were sent up 
to extinguish it, but a shot or two from the field-piece 
drove them down. 

There was no longer hope for McPherson. He 
must surrender, or have his men burned in the fort, 
or decimated if they should leave it. He hung 
out the white flag of surrender. The firing ceased ; 
the flames were extinguished; at one o'clock the 
garrison yielded themselves prisoners. An hour 
afterwards the victorious and captive officers were 
seated at an ample repast at Mrs. Motte's table, 
presided over by that lady with as much urbanity 
and grace as though these guests were her es- 
pecial friends. Since that day Mrs. Motte has been 
classed among the most patriotic heroines of the 
Eevolution. 

This is, perhaps, enough in prose, but the fame 
of Marion and his men has been fitly enshrined in 
poetry, and it will not be amiss to quote a verse 
or two in conclusion, from Bryant's stirring poem 
entitled, " Song of Marion's Men." 



232 HISTORICAL TALES. 

" Our band is few, "but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and "bold ; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good green wood, 

Our tent the cypress-tree ; 
"We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea. 
We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass ; 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 

" Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads, — 
The glitter of their rifles, 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlit plain ; 
'Tis life to feel the night wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp, — 

A moment, — and away 
Back to the pathless forest 

Before the peep of day. ' 

" Grave men there are by broad San tee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs ; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer. 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms, 

And lay them down no more, 
Till we have driven the Briton 

Forever from our shore." 



THE FATE OF THE PHILADEL- 
PHIA. 

It was a mild evening on the Mediterranean, the 
wind light, the sea smooth, the temperature— though 
the season was that of midwinter— summer-like in 
its geniality. Into the harbor of Tripoli slowly 
glided a small, two-masted vessel, all her sails set 
and moderately well filled by the wind, yet moving 
with the tardiness of a very slow sailer. A broad 
bay lay before her, its surface silvered by the 
young moon whose crescent glowed in the western 
sky. Far inward could be dimly seen the masts and 
hull of a large vessel, its furled sails white in the 
moonlight. Beyond it were visible distant lights, 
and a white lustre as of minaret tops touched by 
the moonbeams. These were the lights and spires 
of Tripoli, a Moorish town then best known as a 
haunt and stronghold of the x)irates of the Mediter- 
ranean. All was silence, all seemingly peace. The 
vessel— the ketch, to give it its nautical name- 
moved onward with what seemed exasperating slow- 
ness, scarcely rufiling the polished waters of the 
bay. The hours passed on. The miles lagged tar- 
dily behind. The wind fell. The time crept to- 

20* 233 



234 HISTORICAL TALES. 

wards midniglit. The only life visible in the wide 
landscape was that of the gliding ketch. 

But any one who could have gained a bird's-eye 
view of the vessel would have seen sufficient to ex- 
cite his distrust of that innocent-seeming craft. 
From the water-side only ten or twelve men could 
be seen, but on looking downward the decks would 
have been perceived to be crowded with men, lying 
down so as to be hidden behind the bulwarks and 
other objects upon the deck, and so thick that the 
sailors who were working the vessel had barely room 
to move. 

This appeared suspicious. Not less suspicious was 
the fact that the water behind the vessel was ruffled 
by dragging objects of various kinds, which seemed 
to have something to do with her slowness of mo- 
tion. As the wind grew lighter, and the speed of 
the vessel fell until it was moving at barely a two- 
knots' rate, these objects were drawn in, and proved 
to be buckets, spars, and other drags which had 
been towed astern to reduce the vessel's speed. Her 
tardiness of motion was evidently the work of de- 
sign. 

It was now about ten o'clock. The moon hovered 
on the western horizon, near its hour of setting. 
The wind was nearly east, and favorable to the ves- 
sel's course, but was growing lighter every moment. 
The speed of the ketch diminished until it seemed 
almost to have come to rest. It had now reached 
the eastern entrance to the bay, the passage here 
being narrowed by rocks on the one hand and a 
shoal on the other. Through this passage it stole 



THE FATE OF THE PHILADELPHIA. 235 

onward like a ghost, for nearly an hour, all around 
being tranquil, nothing anywhere to arouse distrust. 
The craft seemed a coaster delayed by the light 
winds in making harbor. 

The gliding ketch had now come so near to the 
large vessel in front, that the latter had lost its dim- 
ness of outUne and was much more plainly visible. 
It was evidently no Moorish craft, its large hull, its 
lofty masts, its tracery of spars and rigging being 
rather those of an English or American frigate than 
a product of Tripolitan dock-yards. Its great bulk 
and sweeping spars arose in striking contrast to the 
low-decked vessels which could be seen here and 
there huddled about the inner sides of the harbor. 

A half-hour more passed. The ketch was now 
close aboard the frigate-like craft, steering directly 
towards it. Despite the seeming security of the 
harbor, there were sentries posted on the frigate and 
officers moving about its deck. From one of these 
now came a loud hail in the Tripolitan tongue. 

" What craft is that ?" 

"The Mastico, from Malta," came the answer, in 
the same language. 

" Keep off. Do you want to run afoul of us ?" 

" We would like to ride beside you for the night," 
came the answer. " We have lost our anchors in a 
gale." 

The conversation continued, in the Tripolitan lan- 
guage, as the ketch crept slowly up, an officer of the 
frigate and the pilot of the smaller vessel being the 
spokesmen. A number of Moorish sailors were look- 
ing with mild curiosity over the frigate's rails, with- 



236 HISTORICAL TALES. 

out a moment's suspicion that anything was wrong. 
The moon still dimly lit up the waters of the bay, 
but not with light enough to make any object very 
distinct. 

As the ketch came close a boat was lowered with 
a line, and was rowed towards the frigate, to whose 
fore-chains the end was made fast. At the same 
time the officer of the large vessel, willing to aid the 
seemingly disabled coaster, ordered some of his men 
to lower a boat and take a line from the stern to the 
ketch. As the boat of the latter returned, it met 
the frigate's boat, took the line from the hands of its 
crew, and passed it in to the smaller vessel. 

The ketch was now fast to the frigate bow and 
stern. The lines were passed to the men lying on 
the deck, none of whom were visible from the 
frigate's rail, and were slowly passed from hand to 
hand by the men, the coaster thus being cautiously 
drawn closer to the obliging Moorish craft. 

All this took time. Foot by foot the ketch drew 
nearer, her motion being almost imperceptible. The 
Moors looked lazily over their bulwark, fancying 
that it was but the set of the current that was bring- 
ing the vessels together. But suddenly there was a 
change. The officer of the frigate had discovered 
that the ketch was still provided with anchors, 
despite the story that her anchors had been lost in a 
gale. 

"What is this?" he cried, sternly. "You have 
your anchors! You have lied to me! Keep off! 
Cut those fasts there !" 

A moment afterwards the cry of " Amerikanos !' 



THE FATE OF THE PHILADELPHIA. 237 

was raised in the ship, and a number of the night- 
watch drew their knives and hastened fore and aft 
to cut the fasts. 

The crew of the Mastico — or the Intrepid, to give 
it its proper name — were still more alert. At the 
first signal of alarm, their cautious pull on the ropes 
was changed to a vigorous effort which sent the ketch 
surging through the water to the side of the frigate, 
where she was instantly secured by grappling-irons, 
hurled by strong hands. 

Up to this moment not a movement or whisper 
had betrayed the presence of the men crouched on 
the deck. The ten or twelve who were visible 
seemed to constitute the whole crew of the craft. 
But now there came a sudden change. The stirring 
cry of "Boarders away!" was raised in stentorian 
tones, and in an instant the deck of the Intrepid 
seemed alive. The astonished Moors gazed with 
startled eyes at a dense crowd of men who had ap- 
peared as suddenly as if they had come from the 
air. 

The order to board had been given by an officer 
who sprang at the same moment for the frigate's 
chain-plates. Two active young men followed him, 
and in an instant the whole crew were at their heels, 
some boarding the frigate by the ports, others over 
the rail, swarming upon her deck like so many bees, 
while the Moors fell back in panic fright. 

The surprise was perfect. The men on the frigate's 
deck ran to the starboard side as their assailants, 
poured in on the larboard, and constant plunges into 
the water told that they were hastily leaping over- 



238 HISTORICAL TALES. 

board in their fright. Hardly a blow had been struck. 
The deck was cleared in almost a minute after the 
order to board. The only struggle took place below, 
but this lasted little longer. In less than ten min- 
utes from the time of boarding all resistance was at 
an end, and the craft was an undisputed prize to the 
Intrepid' s crew. 

And now to learn the meaning of this midnight 
assault. The vessel which had been so skilfully cap- 
tured was the frigate Philadelphia, of the Ameri- 
can navy, which had fallen into the hands of the 
Tripolitans some time before. For years the Moor- 
ish powers of Africa had been preying upon the 
commerce of the Mediterranean, until the weaker 
nations of Europe were obliged to pay an annual 
tribute for the security of their commerce. The 
United States did the same for some time, but the 
thing grew so annoying that war was at length de- 
clared against Tripoli, the boldest of these piratical 
powers. In 1803 Commodore Preble was sent with 
a fleet to the Mediterranean. He forced Morocco to 
respect American commerce, and then proceeded to 
Tripoli, outside whose harbor his fleet congregated, 
with a view of blockading the port. 

On October 31 Captain Bainbridge of the Phila- 
delphia, while cruising about, saw a vessel in shore 
and to windward, standing for Tripoli. Sail was 
made to cut her off. The chase continued for several 
hours, the lead being kept constantly going to avoid 
danger of shoals. When about a league distant 
from Tripoli it became evident that the fugitive craft 
could not be overtaken, and the frigate wore round 



THE FATE Or THE PHILADELPHIA. 239 

to haul off into deeper waters. But, to the alarm of 
the officers, they found the water in their front rapidly 
shoaling, it having quickly decreased in depth from 
eight to six and a half fathoms. A hasty effort was 
now made to wear the ship, but it was too late ; the 
next instant she struck on a reef, with such force that 
she was lifted on it between five and six feet. 

This was an appalling accident. ]^o other cruiser 
was near. The enemy was close at hand. Gunboats 
were visible near the town. The moment it was dis- 
covered that the frigate was in trouble these dogs of 
war would be out. Captain Bainbridge gave orders 
to lighten the ship with all speed. All but a few of 
her guns were thrown overboard. The anchors were 
cut from the bows. The water-casks in the hold 
were started, and the water pumped out. All heavy 
articles were thrown overboard, and finally the fore- 
mast was cut away. But all proved in vain. The 
ship still lay immovable on the rocks. The gunboats 
of the enemy now surrounded her, and were growing 
bolder every minute. There was nothing for it but 
surrender. Eesistance could only end in the death 
of all on board. 

But before hauling down his flag, Captain Bain- 
bridge had the magazine drowned, holes bored in the 
ship's bottom, the pumps choked, and every measure 
taken to insure her sinking. Then the colors were 
lowered and the gunboats took possession, three 
hundred and fifteen prisoners being captured. The 
officers were well treated by the bashaw of Tripoli, but 
an enormous ransom was demanded for them, and all 
signs of an inclination to peace disappeared. 



24:0 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Captain Bainbridge's efforts to sink the Philadel- 
phia proved ineffectual. During a high wind tho 
prize was got off the reef, her leaks stopped, and she 
taken in triumph to the city. Her guns, anchors, 
and other articles were raised from the reef, the ship 
was moored about a quarter of a mile from the 
bashaw's castle, and her injuries repaired, it being 
the intention to fit her for sea as a Tripolitan cruiser. 

These were the events that preceded the daring 
attempt we have detailed. Lieutenant Stephen De- 
catur had volunteered to make an effort to destroy 
the vessel, with the aid of a recently-captured ketch, 
called the Mastico. This, renamed the Intrepid, 
manned with a crew of seventy-six men, had entered 
the harbor on the evening of February 3, 1803. 
What followed, to the capture of the frigate, has 
been told. The succeeding events remain to be 
detailed. 

Doubtless Lieutenant Decatur would have at- 
tempted to carry off the prize had it been possible. 
His orders, however, were to destroy it, and the fact 
that there was not a sail bent or a yard crossed left 
him no alternative. The command was, therefore, 
at once given to pass up the combustibles from the 
ketch. There was no time to be lost. The swim- 
ming fugitives would quickly be in the town and the 
alarm given. Every moment now was of value, for 
the place where they were was commanded by the 
guns of the forts and of several armed vessels 
anchored at no great distance, and they might look 
for an assault the instant their character was de- 
termined. 



THE FATE OF THE PHILADELPHIA. 241 

With all haste, then, officers and men went to 
work. They had been divided into squads, each with 
its own duty to perform, and they acted with the 
utmost promptitude and disciplined exactness. The 
men who descended with combustibles to the cockpit 
and after-store-rooms had need to haste, for fires 
were lighted over their heads before they were 
through with their task. So rapidly did the flames 
catch and spread that some of those on board had to 
make their escape from between-decks by the for- 
ward ladders, the after-part of the ship being already 
filled with smoke. 

In twenty minutes from the time the Americans 
had taken possession of the ship they were driven 
out of her by the flames, so rapidly had they spread. 
The vessel had become so dry under those tropical 
suns that she burned like pine. By the time the 
party which had been engaged in the store-rooms 
reached the deck, most of the others were on board 
the Intrepid. They joined them, and the order to 
cast off was given. It was not an instant too soon, 
for the daring party were just then in the most risky 
situation they had been in that night. 

The fire, in fact, had spread with such unexpected 
rapidity that flames were already shooting from the 
port- holes. The head fast was cast off, and the ketch 
fell astern. But the stern fast became jammed and 
the boom foul, while the ammunition of the party, 
covered only with a tarpaulin, was within easy reach 
of the increasing flames. 

There was no time to look for an axe, and the 
rope was severed with sword-blows, while a vigorous 

I.— L q 21 



242 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Bhove sent the Intrepid clear of the frigate and 
free from the danger which had threatened her. 
As she swung clear, the flames reached the rigging, 
up which they shot in hissing lines, the ropes being 
saturated with tar which had oozed out through the 
heat of the sun. 

The Intrepid did not depend on her sails alone 
for escape. She was provided with sweeps, and 
these were now got out and manned with haste, a 
few vigorous strokes sending the vessel safely away 
from the flaming frigate. This done, the crew, as 
with one impulse, dropped their oars and gave three 
rousing cheers for their signal victory. 

Their shouts of triumph appeared to rouse the 
Moors from their lethargy. So rapid and unlooked- 
for had been the affair, that the vessel was in full 
flame before the town and the harbor were awake 
to the situation. There were batteries on shore, and 
two corsairs and a galley were anchored at no great 
distance from the Philadelphia, and from these now 
the boom of cannon began. But their fire was too 
hasty and nervous to do much harm, and the men of 
the Intrepid seized their sweeps again and bowled 
merrily down the harbor, their progress aided by a 
light breeze in their sails. 

The spectacle that followed is described as of a 
beauty that approached sublimity. The ship, aflame 
from hull to peak, presented a magnificent appear- 
ance, the entire bay was illuminated, and the flash 
and roar of cannon were constant, the guns of the 
Philadelphia going off as they became heated, and 
adding to the uproar. She lay so that one of her 



THE PATE OF THE PHILADELPHIA. 243 

broadsides was directed towards the town, thus re- 
turning the enemy's fire, while the other sent its 
balls far out into the harbor. " The most singular 
effect of the conflagration was on board the ship, for 
the flames, having run up the rigging and masts, 
collected under the tops, and fell over, giving the 
whole the appearance of glowing columns and fiery 
capitals." 

The Intrepid moved on down the harbor, none the 
worse for the cannon-balls that were sent after her, 
and continued her course until she reached her con- 
sort, the Siren, which awaited her outside the harbor. 
Joining company, they proceeded to Syracuse, where 
the fleet then lay. 

The exploit we have here described was one of the 
most notable in the annals of the American navy. 
It was one that needed the utmost daring combined 
with the most exact attention to details, and in both 
these respects there was nothing wanting to insure 
the success of the enterprise. The hour was well 
chosen, as that in which the foe would most likely 
be off their guard, and to this we must ascribe the 
slowness of their assault on the Americans and the 
uncertainty of their aim. The mode of approach to 
the frigate, the skill with which the ketch was laid 
alongside without exciting suspicion, and the rapidity 
and completeness with which the destruction of the 
prize was prepared for, were all worthy of high com- 
mendation. As for the boldness of the enterprise, 
one has but to consider what would have been the 
fate of the Americans had the attack failed. Directly 
under the frigate's guns, and in a harbor filled with 



244 HISTORICAL TALES. 

gunboats and armed cruisers and surrounded by- 
forts and batteries, escape would have been impos- 
sible, and every man in the Intrepid must have 
perished. The greatest courage, coolness, and self- 
possession, and the most exact discipline, alone could 
have yielded success in the daring project, and these 
qualities seem to have been possessed in a high 
degree. 

The success of this exploit gave Lieutenant De- 
catur a reputation for gallantry which had its 
share in his subsequent elevation to the highest rank 
in the navy. The country generally applauded the 
feat, and the navy long considered it one of its most 
brilliant achievements, it being deemed a high honor 
among sailors and officers to have been one of the 
Intrepid's crew. The writer of these pages may 
add that it is to him a matter of some interest that 
the first man to reach the deck of the Philadelphia 
on that memorable night was a namesake of his own, 
Midshipman Charles Morris. For the credit of the 
name he is also glad to say that Mr. Morris in time 
became a commodore in the navy, and attained a 
high reputation as an officer both in war and peace. 



THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR, 

On the Ohio River, fourteen miles below Marietta, 
lies a beautiful island, which became, in the early 
part of this century, the scene of a dngular romance. 
At that time it was a wild and forest-clad domain, 
except for a few acres of clearing near its upper 
extremity, on which stood a large and handsome 
mansion, with spacious out-buildings and surround- 
ing grounds which were laid out with the finest 
taste. The great elms and gigantic sycamores of 
the West gave grandeur to the surrounding wood- 
land, and afforded shelter to grazing flocks and herds. 
Huge water- willows dipped their drooping branches 
into the waves of the Ohio as they ran swiftly by. 
In front of the mansion were several acres of well- 
kept lawn. In its rear were two acres of flower- 
garden, planted with native and exotic shrubs. 
Vine-covered arbors and grottos rose here and 
there. On one side of the house was the kitchen 
garden, stocked with choice fruit-trees. Through 
the forest-trees an opening had been cut, which 
aff'orded an attractive view of the river for several 
miles of its course. On the whole, it was a paradise 
in the wilderness, a remarkable scene for that out- 
lying region, for not far from the mansion still stood 

21* 245 



246 HISTORICAL TALES. 

a large block-house, which had, not many years 
before, been used as a place of refuge in the deso- 
lating Indian wars. 

Here dwelt Harman Blennerhasset and his lovely 
wife ; he a man of scientific attainments, she a woman 
of fine education and charming manners. He was 
of Irish origin, wealthy, amply educated, with friends 
among the highest nobility. But he had imbibed 
republican principles, and failed to find himself com- 
fortable in royalist society. He had therefore sought 
America, heard of the beautiful islands of the Ohio, 
and built himself a home on one of the most charm- 
ing of them all. 

We have described the exterior of the mansion. 
Interiorly it was richly ornamented and splendidly 
furnished. The drawing-room was of noble propor- 
tions and admirable adornment. The library was 
well filled with choice books. The proprietor was 
fond of chemistry, and had an excellent laboratory ; 
he enjoyed astronomy, and possessed a powerful 
telescope ; he had a passion for music, had composed 
many airs, and played well on several instruments. 
He was, in his way, a universal genius, courteous in 
manners, benevolent in disposition, yet of that genial 
and unsuspicious nature which laid him open to the 
wiles of those shrewd enough to make use of his 
weak points. 

Mrs. Blennerhasset loved society, and was none too 
well pleased that her husband should bury himself 
and her in the wilderness, and waste his fine powers 
on undeveloped nature. Such guests of culture as 
could be obtained were hospitably welcomed at their 



THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR. 247 

island mansion. Few boats passed up and down the 
river without stopping at the island, and cultured 
and noble persons from England and France not 
infrequently found their way to the far-off home of 
the Blennerhassets. 

Yet, withal, the intervals between the visits of 
cultivated guests were long. Ohio was rapidly fill- 
ing up with population, but culture was a rare exotic 
in that pioneer region, and the inmates of the Blen- 
nerhasset mansion must have greatly lacked visits 
from their own social equals. 

One day in the spring of 1805 a traveller landed 
on the island, as if merely lured thither by the 
beauty of the grounds as seen from the river. Mr. 
Blennerhasset was in his study, whither a servant 
came to tell him that a gentlemanly stranger had 
landed, and was observing the lawn. The servant 
was at once bidden to invite the stranger, in his 
master's name, to enter the house. The traveller 
courteously declined. He could not think of in- 
truding, begged to be excused for landing on the 
grounds, and sent in his card. Mr. Blennerhasset 
read the card, and his eyes lighted up with interest, 
for what he saw was the name of a former Yice- 
President of the United States. He at once hastened 
to the lawn, and with polite insistence declared that 
Mr. Burr must enter and partake of the hospitality 
of his house. 

It was like inviting Satan into Eden. Aaron Burr, 
for it was he, readily complied. He had made the 
journey thither for that sole purpose. The story of 
Mr. Blennerhasset's wealth had reached the East, 



248 HISTORICAL TALES. 

and the astute schemer hoped to enlist his aid in 
certain questionable projects he then entertained. 

But no hint of an ulterior purpose was suffered to 
appear. Burr was noted for the fascination of his 
manners, and his host and hostess were charmed 
with him. He was unusually well informed, eloquent 
in speech, familiar with all social arts, and could 
mask the deepest designs with the most artless af- 
fectation of simplicity. All the secrets of American 
political movements were familiar to him, and he 
conversed fluently of the prospects of war with 
Spain, the ease with which the Mexicans might 
throw off their foreign yoke, and the possibilities 
of splendid pecuniary results from land speculations 
within the Spanish territory on the Eed River. 

This seed sown, the arch deceiver went his way. 
His first step had been taken. Blennerhasset was 
patriotically devoted to the United States, but the 
grand scheme which had been portrayed to him 
seemed to have nothing to do with questions of state. 
It was a land speculation open to private wealth. 

Burr kept his interest alive by letters. The Blen- 
nerhassets spent the next winter in New York and 
Philadelphia, and there met Aaron Burr again. Not 
unlikely they came with that purpose, for the hopes 
of new wealth, easily to be made, were alluring and 
exciting. During that winter it is probable that 
a sort of land-speculation partnership was formed. 
Very rich lands lay on the Washita Eiver, within 
Spanish territory, said Burr, which could be bought 
for a small sum. Then, by encouraging immigration 
thither, they might be sold at enormous profit. 



THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR. 249 

This was the Burr scheme as Blennerhasset heard 
it. The dupe did not dream of the treasonable pro- 
jects resting within the mind of his dangerous asso- 
ciate. These were, to provoke revolt of the people 
of Mexico and the northern Spanish provinces, an- 
nex the western United States region, and establish 
a great empire, in which Burr should be the leading 
potentate. 

Mr. Blennerhasset, once enlisted in the land-specu- 
lation project, supplied the funds to buy the lands 
on the Washita, and engaged in operations on a 
large scale for sending settlers to the purchased 
domain. Colonel Burr came to Marietta and took 
an active part in these operations. Fifteen large 
flat-boats were built to convey the immigrants, their 
furniture, and such arms as they might need for 
repelling Indians. Five hundred men were fixed 
as the number for the first colony, and this num- 
ber Burr succeeded in enlisting. Each was to have 
one hundred acres of land. This was not in itself 
any great inducement where land was so plentiful 
as in Ohio. But Burr did not hesitate to hint at 
future possibilities. The lands to be colonized had 
been peacefully purchased. But the Mexicans were 
eager to throw off the Spanish yoke ; war between 
the United States and Spain might break out at any 
minute ; Mexico would be invaded by an army, set 
free, and the new pioneers would have splendid op- 
portunities in the formation of a new and great 
republic of the West and South. Burr went further 
than this. He had articles inserted in a Marietta 
newspaper, signed by an assumed name, in which 



250 HISTORICAL TALES. 

was advocated the secession of the States west of 
the Alleghanies. These articles were strongly re- 
plied to by a writer who signed himself " Eegulus," 
and with whose views the community at large sym- 
pathized. His articles were copied by Eastern 
papers. They spoke of the armed expedition which 
Colonel Burr was preparing, and declared that its 
purpose was the invasion of Mexico. Jefferson, then 
in the Presidential chair, knew Burr too well to ig- 
nore these warnings. He sent a secret agent to 
Marietta to discover what was going on, and at the 
same time asked the governor of Ohio to seize the 
boats and suppress the expedition. 

Mr. Blennerhasset assured the secret agent, Mr. 
Graham, that no thought was entertained of in- 
vading Mexico. The project, he said, was an emi- 
nently peaceful one. But the public was of a 
different opinion. Rumor, once started, grew with 
its usual rapidity. Burr was organizing an army to 
seize New Orleans, rob the banks, capture the artil- 
lery, and set up an empire or republic of his own in 
the valley of the lower Mississippi. Blennerhasset 
was his accomplice, and as deep in the scheme as 
himself The Ohio Legislature, roused to energetic 
action by the rumors which were everywhere afloat, 
passed an act that all armed expeditions should be 
suppressed, and empowered the governor to call out 
the militia, seize Burr's boats, and hold the crews 
for trial. 

Public attention had been earnestly and hostilely 
directed to the questionable project, and Burr's hopes 
were at an end. The militia were mustered at Mari- 



THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR. 251 

etta, a six-pounder was planted on the river-bank, 
orders were given to stop and examine all descend- 
ing boats, and sentries were placed to watch the 
stream by day and night. 

While these events were proceeding, Mr. Blenner- 
hasset had gone to the Muskingum, to superintend 
the departure of the boats that were to start from 
that stream. While there the boats were seized by 
order of the governor. The suspicions of the people 
and government were for the first time made clear 
to him. Greatly disturbed, and disposed to abandon 
the whole project, costly as it had been to him, he 
hastened back to his island home. There he found 
a flotilla of four boats, with a crew of about thirty 
men, which had passed Marietta before the muster- 
ing of the militia. They were commanded by a 
Mr. Tyler. 

Mr. B.lennerhasset's judgment was in favor of 
abandoning the scheme. Mrs. Blennerhasset, who 
was very ambitious, argued strongly on the other 
side. She was eager to see her husband assume a 
position fitting to his great talents. Mr. Tyler joined 
her in her arguments. Blennerhasset gave way. It 
was a fatal compliance, one destined to destroy his 
happiness and peace for the remainder of his life, 
and to expose his wife to the most frightful scenes 
of outrage and barbarity. 

The frontier contained hosts of lawless men, men 
to whom loyalty meant license. Three days after 
the conversation described, word was brought to the 
island that a party of the Wood County militia, made 
up of the lowest and most brutal men in the com- 



252 HISTORICAL TALES. 

munity, would land on the island that very night, 
seize the boats, arrest all the men they found, and 
probably burn the house. 

The danger was imminent. Blennerhasset and all 
the men with him took to the boats to escape arrest 
and possibly murder from these exasperated fron- 
tiersmen. Mrs. Blennerhasset and her children were 
left in the mansion, with the expectation that their 
presence would restrain the brutality of the militia, 
and preserve the house and its valuable contents 
from destruction. It proved a fallacious hope. Colo- 
nel Phelps, the commander of the militia, pursued 
Blennerhasset. In his absence his men behaved like 
savages. They took possession of the house, became 
brutally drunk from the liquors they found in the 
cellar, rioted through its elegantly furnished rooms, 
burned its fences for bonfires, and for seven days 
made life a pandemonium of horrors for the helpless 
woman and frightened children who had been left in 
their midst. 

The experience of those seven days was frightful. 
There was no escape. Mrs. Blennerhasset was com- 
pelled to witness the ruthless destruction of all she 
held most dear, and to listen to the brutal ribaldry 
and insults of the rioting savages. Not until the 
end of the time named did relief come. Then Mr. 
Putnam, a friend from the neighboring town of Bel- 
pre, ventured on the island. He provided a boat in 
which the unhappy lady was enabled to save a few 
articles of furniture and some choice books. In this 
boat, with her two sons, six and eight years old, and 
with two young men from Belpre, she started down 



THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR. 253 

the river to join her husband. Two or three negro 
servants accompanied her. 

It was a journey of great hardships. The weather 
was cold, the river filled with floating ice, the boat 
devoid of any comforts. A rude cabin, open in the 
front, afforded the only shelter from wind and rain. 
Half frozen in her flight, the poor woman made her 
way down the stream, and at length joined her hus- 
band at the mouth of the Cumberland Eiver, which 
he had reached with his companions, having distanced 
pursuit. Their flight was continued down the Mis- 
sissippi as far as Natchez. 

No sooner had Mrs. Blennerhasset left the island 
than the slight restraint which her presence had ex- 
ercised upon the militia disappeared. The mansion 
was ransacked. Whatever they did not care to carry 
away was destroyed. Books, pictures, rich furniture 
were used to feed bonfires. Doors were torn from 
their hinges, windows dashed in, costly mirrors 
broken with hammers. Destruction swept the island, 
all its improvements being ruthlessly destroyed. For 
months the mansion stood, an eyesore of desolation, 
until some hand, moved by the last impulse of sav- 
agery, set it on fire, and it was burned to the 
ground. 

What followed may be briefly told. So great was 
the indignation against Burr that he was forced to 
abandon his project. His adherents were left in 
destitution. Some of them were a thousand miles 
and more from their homes, and were forced to make 
their way back as they best could. Burr and Blen- 
nerhasset were both arrested for treason. The latter 

22 



254 HISTORICAL TALES. 

escaped. There was no criminating evidence against 
him. As for Burr, he had been far too shrewd to 
leave himself open to the hand of the law. His trial 
resulted in an acquittal. Though no doubt was felt 
of his guilt, no evidence could be found to establish 
it. He was perforce set free. 

If he had done nothing more, he had, by his de- 
testable arts, broken up one of the happiest homes 
in America, and ruined his guileless victim. 

Blennerhasset bought a cotton plantation at Nat- 
chez. His wife, who had the energy he lacked, 
managed it. They dwelt there for ten years, favorites 
with the neighboring planters. Then came war with 
England, and the plantation ceased to afford them a 
living. The ruined man returned to his native land, 
utterly worn out and discouraged, and died there in 
poverty in 1831. 

Mrs. Blennerhasset became a charge on the charity 
of her friends. After several years she returned to 
the United States, where she sought to obtain re- 
muneration from Congress for her destroyed prop- 
erty. She would probably have succeeded but for 
her sudden death. She was buried at the expense of 
a society of Irish ladies in the city of New York. 
And thus ended the career of two of the victims of 
Aaron Burr. They had listened to the siren voice 
of the tempter, and ruin and despair were their 
rewards. 



HOW THE ELECTRIC TELE- 
GRAPH WAS INVENTED. 

The year 1832 is only sixty years ago in time, yet 
it is seemingly centuries ago in its development of 
conveniences, rapidity of travel, and arrangements 
for the diffusion of intelligence. People then still 
travelled in great part by aid of horses, the railroad 
having just begun its marvellous career. News, 
which now fly over continents and under oceans at 
lightning speed, then jogged on at stage-coach rates 
of progress, creej^ing where they now fly. On the 
ocean, steam was beginning to battle with wind and 
wave, but the ocean racer was yet a far-off dream, 
and mariners still put their trust in sails much more 
than in the new-born contrivances which were pre- 
paring to revolutionize travel. But the wand of the 
enchanter had been waved; steam had come, and 
with it the new era of progress had dawned. And 
another great agent in the development of civilization 
was about to come. Electricity, which during all 
previous times had laughed at bonds, was soon to 
become man's slave, and to be made his purveyor of 
news. It is the story of this chaining of the light- 
ning, and forcing it to become the swift conveyer 
of man's sayings and doings, that we have here to tell. 

255 



256 HISTORICAL TALES. 

In the far remote period named — if we measure 
time by deeds, not by years— a packet-ship, the Sully, 
was making its deliberate way across the Atlantic 
from Havre to New York. Its passenger list was 
not large, — the ocean had not yet become a busy high- 
way of the continents, — but among them were some 
persons in whom we are interested. One of these 
was a Boston doctor, Charles T. Jackson by name. 
A second was a I^ew York artist, named Samuel F. 
B. Morse. The last-named gentleman had been a 
student at Yale, where he became greatly interested 
in chemistry and some other sciences. He had 
studied the art of painting under Benjamin West 
in London, had practised it in J^ew York, had long 
been president of the National Academy of the Arts 
of Design ; and was now on his way home after a 
second period of residence in Europe as a student 
of art. 

An interesting conversation took place one day in 
the cabin of the Sully. Dr. Jackson spoke of Am- 
pere's experiments with the electro-magnet; of how 
Franklin had sent electricity through several miles 
of wire, finding no loss of time between the touch 
at one end and the spark at the other ; and how, in 
a recent experiment at Paris, a great length of wire 
had been carried in circles around the walls of a large 
apartment, an electro-magnet connected with one 
end, and an electric current manifested at the other, 
having passed through the wire so quickly as to seem 
instantaneous. Mr. Morse's taste for science had not 
died out during his years of devotion to art. He 
listened with the most earnest attention to the 



HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED. 257 

doctor's narrative, and while he did so a large and 
promising idea came into being in his brain. 

"Why," he exclaimed, with much ardor of manner, 
" if that is so, and the presence of electricity can be 
made visible in any desii-ed part of the circuit, I see 
no reason why intelligence should not be transmitted 
instantaneously by electricity." 

" How convenient it would be if we could send news 
in that manner! " chimed in one of the passengers. 

" Why can't we?" exclaimed Morse. 

Why not, indeed ? The idea probably died in the 
minds of most of the persons present within five 
minutes. But Samuel Morse was not one of the men 
who let ideas die. This one haunted him day and 
night. He thought of it and dreamed of it. In 
those days of deliberate travel time hung heavily 
on the hands of transatlantic passengers, despite 
the partial diversions of eating and sleeping. The 
ocean grew monotonous, the vessel monotonous, the 
passengers monotonous, everything monotonous ex- 
cept that idea, and that grew and spread till its 
fibres filled every nook and cranny of the inventive 
brain that had taken it in to bed and board. 

Morse had abundance of the native Yankee faculty 
of invention. To do, had been plain enough from 
the start. How to do, was the question to be solved. 
But before the Sully steamed into New York har- 
bor the solution had been reached. In the mind of 
the inventor, and in graphic words and drawings on 
paper, were laid down the leading features of that 
telegraphic method which is used to-day in the great 
majority of the telegraph lines of the world. 
I.— r 22* 



258 HISTORICAL TALES. 

An alphabet of dots and marks, a revolving ribbon 
of paper to receive this alphabet, a method of en- 
closiDg the wires in tubes which were to be buried 
underground, were the leading features of the device 
as first thought of. The last conception was quickly 
followed by that of supporting the wires in the air, 
but Morse clung to his original fancy for burying 
them, — a fancy which, it may here be said, is coming 
again into vogue in these latter days, so far as cities 
are concerned. 

It is not meant to be implied that the idea of 
sending news by electricity was original with Morse. 
Others had had it before him. More than half a 
century before, Dr. Franklin and some friends had 
stretched a wire across the Schuylkill Eiver and 
killed a turkey on the other side by electricity. As 
they ate this tui'key, it is quite possible that they 
imbibed with it the idea of making this marvellous 
agent do other work than killing fowl for dinner, 
and from that time on it is likely that many had 
speculated on the possibility of sending intelligence by 
wire. Some experiments had been made, and with a 
certain degree of success, but time still waited for the 
hour and the man, and the hour and the man met in 
that fertile October day in the cabin of the Sullj^. 

" If it can go ten miles without stopping, I can 
make it go round the world," said Morse to his fel- 
low-passengers, his imagination expanding in the 
ardor of his new idea. 

" Well, captain," he said, with a laugh, on leaving 
the ship, " should you hear of the telegraph one of 
these days as the wonder of the world, remember 



HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED. 259 

that the discovery was made on board the good ship 
Sully." 

The inventor, indeed, was possessed with his new 
conceptions, mad with an idea, as we may say, and 
glad to set foot once more on shore, that he might 
put his plans in practice. 

This proved no easy task. He was none too well 
provided with funds, and the need of making a living 
was the first necessity that presented itself to him. 
He experimented as much as he was able, but three 
years passed before his efforts yielded a satisfactory 
result. Then, with a circuit of seventeen hundred 
feet of wire, and a wooden clock, adapted by himself 
to suit his purpose, he managed to send a message 
from end to end of this wire. It was not very legi- 
ble. He could make some sense of it. His friends 
could not. But all were much interested in the ex- 
periment. Many persons witnessed these results, as 
shown in a large room of the ISTew York University, 
in 1837. They seemed wonderful; much was said 
about them ; but nobody seemed to believe that the 
apparatus was more than a curious and unprofitable 
toy, and capitalists buttoned their pockets when the 
question of backing up this wild inventor's fancy 
with money was broached. 

But by this time Mr. Morse was a complete cap- 
tive to his idea. Body and soul he was its slave. 
The question of daily fare became secondary ; that 
of driving his idea over and through all obstacles 
became primary. His business as an artist was neg- 
lected. He fell into want, into almost abject pov- 
erty. For twenty-four hours he went without food. 



260 HISTORICAL TALES. 

But not for a moment did he lose faith in his inven- 
tion, or remit his efforts to find a capitalist with 
sufficient confidence in him to risk his money in it. 

FaiHng with the private rich, he tried to obtain 
public support, went to Washington in 1838, exhib- 
ited his apparatus to interested congressmen, and 
petitioned for enough money from the public purse 
to build a line from Baltimore to Washington, — forty 
miles only. It is traditionally slow work in getting 
a bill through Congress. Weary with waiting, Morse 
went to Europe, to try his new seed in that old soil. 
It failed to germinate abroad as it had at home. 
Men with money acknowledged that the idea was a 
scientific success, but could not believe that it might 
be made a business success. 

" What would people care for instantaneous news ?" 
they said. ^' Some might, it is true, but the great 
mass would be content to wait for their news in the 
good old way. To lay miles of wire in the earth is 
to bury a large treasure in money. We cannot see 
our way clear to getting it back again out of the 
pockets of the public. Your wires work, Mr. Morse, 
but, from a business point of view, there's more cost 
than profit in the idea." 

It may be that these exact words were not spoken, 
but the answer of Europe was near enough to this 
to send the inventor home disappointed. He began 
again his weary waiting on the slowly-revolving 
wheels of the congressional machinery. 

March 3, 1843, came. It was the last day of the 
session. With the stroke of midnight on that day 
the existing Congress would die, and a new one be 



HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED. 261 

born, with which the weary work of the education 
of congressmen would have to be gone over again. 
The inventor had been given half a loaf. His bill 
had been passed, on February 23, in the House. All 
day of March 3 he hung about the Senate chamber 
petitioning, where possible, for the other half of his 
loaf, faintly hoping that in the last will and testa- 
ment of the expiring Congress some small legacy 
might be left for him. 

Evening came. The clock-hands circled rapidly 
round. Pressure of bills and confusion of legislation 
grew greater minute by minute. The floodgates of 
the deluge are lifted upon Congress in its last hours, 
and business pours onward in such an overwhelming 
fashion that small private petitioners can scarcely 
hope that the doors of the ark of safety will be 
opened to their petty claims. Morse hung about 
the chamber until the midnight hour was almost 
ready to strike. Every moment confusion seemed 
to grow " worse confounded." The work of a month 
of easy-going legislation was being compressed into 
an hour of haste and excitement. The inventor at 
last left the Capitol, a saddened and disappointed man, 
and made his way home, the last shreds of hope 
seeming to drop from him as he went. He was al- 
most ready to give up the fight, and devote himself 
for the future solely to brush and pencil. 

He slept but poorly that night, and rose the next 
morning still depressed and gloomy. He appeared 
at the breakfast-table with a face from which the 
very color of ambition seemed to have been washed 
out. As he entered the room he was met by a young 



262 HISTORICAL TALES. 

lady, Miss Annie G. Ellsworth, daughter of the Com- 
missioner of Patents. The smile on her beaming face 
was in striking contrast to the gloom on his downcast 
countenance. 

"I have come to congratulate you, Mr. Morse," 
she said, cheerily. 

" For what, my dear friend ?" 

" For the passage of your bill." 

" What !" he gazed at her in amazement. Could 
she be attempting a foolish and cruel jest ? " The 
passage of my bill !" he faltered. 

" Yes. Do you not know of it ?" 

"JSTo." 

" Then you came home too early last night. And 
I am happy in being the first to bring you the good 
news. Congress has granted your claim." 

It was true : he had been remembered in the will 
of the expiring Congress. In the last hour of the 
Senate, amid the roar of the deluge of public business, 
his small demand had floated into sight, and thirty 
thousand dollars had been voted him for the con- 
struction of an experimental telegraph line. 

" You have given me new life. Miss Ellsworth," he 
said. " As a reward for your good tidings I promise 
you that when my telegraph line is completed, you 
shall have the honor of choosing the first message to 
be sent over it." 

The inventor was highly elated, and not without 
reason. Since the morning of the conversation on 
the ship Sully, eleven and a half years had passed. 
They had been years of such struggle against poverty 
and discouragement as only a man who is the slave 



HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED. 263 

of an idea has the hardihood to endure. The annals 
of invention contain many such instances; more, 
perhaps, than can be found in any other channel of 
human effort. 

To complete our story we have to bring another 
inventor upon the stage. This was Ezra Cornell, 
memorable to-day as the founder of Cornell Uni- 
versity, a man at that time unknown, but filled with 
inventive ideas, and ready to undertake any task 
that might offer itself, from digging a well to boring 
a mountain tunnel. One day Mr. Cornell, who was 
at that time occupying the humble position of travel- 
ling agent for a patent plough, called at the oflSce of 
an agricultural newspaper in Portland, Maine. He 
found the editor on his knees, a piece of chalk in his 
hand, and parts of a plough by his side, making draw- 
ings on the floor, and trying to explain something to 
a plough-maker beside him. The editor looked up at 
his visitor, and an expression of relief replaced the 
perplexity on his face. 

" Cornell," he cried, " you're the very man I want 
to see. I want a scraper made, and I can't make 
Eobinson here see into my idea. You can under- 
stand it, and make it for me, too." 

" What is your scraper to do ?" asked Cornell. 

Mr. Smith, the editor, rose from his knees and ex- 
plained. A line of telegraph was to be built from 
Baltimore to Washington. Congress had granted 
the money. He had taken the contract from Pro- 
fessor Morse to lay the tube in which the wire was 
to be placed. He had made a bad bargain, he feared. 
The job was going to cost more than he had calcu- 



264 HISTORICAL TALES. 

lated on. He was trying to invent something that 
would dig the ditch, and fill in the dirt again after 
the pipe was laid. Cornell listened to him, questioned 
him, found out the size of the pipe and the depth 
of the ditch, then sat down and passed some minutes 
in hard thinking. Finally he said, — 

" You are on the wrong tack. You don't want 
either a ditch or a scraper." 

He took a pencil and in a few minutes outlined a 
machine, which he said would cut a trench two feet 
deep, lay the pipe at its bottom, and cover the earth 
in behind it. The motive power need be only a team 
of oxen or mules. These creatures had but to trudge 
slowly onward. The machine would do its work 
faithfully behind them. 

" Come, come, this is impossible !" cried editor Smith. 

" I'll wager my head it can be done, and I can do 
it," replied inventor Cornell. 

He laid a large premium on his confidence in his 
idea, promising that if his machine would not work 
he would ask no money for it. But if it succeeded, 
he was to be well paid. Smith agreed to these terms, 
and Cornell went to work. 

In ten days the machine was built and ready for 
trial. A yoke of oxen was attached to it, three men 
managed it, and in the first five minutes it had laid one 
hundred feet of pipe and covered it with earth. It was 
a decided success. Mr. Smith had contracted to lay the 
pipe for one hundred dollars a mile. A short calcula- 
tion proved to him that, with the aid of Ezra Cornell's 
machine, ninety dollars of this would be profit. 

But the shrewd editor did not feel like risking 



HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED. 265 

Cornell's machine in any hands but those of the in- 
ventor. He made him a profitable offer if he would 
go to Baltimore and take charge of the job himself. 
It would pay better than selling patent ploughs. 
Cornell agreed to go. 

Eeaching Baltimore, he met Professor Morse. 
They had never met before. Their future lives were 
to be closely associated. In the conversation that 
ensued Morse explained what he proposed to do. An 
electric wire might either be laid underground or 
carried through the air. He had decided on the 
underground system, the wire being coated by an 
insulating compound and drawn through a pipe. 

Cornell questioned him closely, got a clear idea of 
the scheme, saw the pipe that was to be used, and 
expressed doubts of its working. 

"It will work, for it has worked," said Morse. 
" While I have been fighting Congress, inventors in 
Europe have been experimenting with the telegraphic 
idea. Short lines have been laid in England and 
elsewhere, in which the wire is carried in buried 
pipes. They had been successful. What can be done 
in Europe can be done in America." 

What Morse said was a fact. While he had been 
pushing his telegraph conception in America it had 
been tried successfully in Europe. But the system 
adopted there, of vibrating needle signals, was so 
greatly inferior to the Morse system, that it was 
destined in the future to be almost or quite set aside 
by the latter. To-day the Morse system and alpha- 
bet are used in much the greater number of the 
telegraph-offices of the world. 
m 23 



266 HISTORICAL TALES. 

But to return to our story. Cornell went to work, 
and the pipe, with its interior wire, was laid with 
much rapidity. Not many days had elapsed before 
ten miles were underground, the pipe being neatly 
covered as laid. It reached from Baltimore nearly 
to the Eelay House. Here it stopped, for something 
had gone wrong. Morse tested his wire. It would 
not work. 'No trace of an electric current could be 
got through it. The insulation was evidently im- 
perfect. What was to be done ? He would be charged 
with wasting the public money on an impracticable 
experiment. Yet if he stopped he might expect a 
roar of newspaper disapprobation of his whole scheme. 
He was in a serious dilemma. How should he 
escape ? 

He sought Cornell, and told him of the failure of 
his experiments. The work must be stopped. He 
must try other kinds of pipe and new methods of 
insulation. But if the public should suspect failure 
there would be vials of wrath poured on their devoted 
heads. 

" The public shall not suspect failure. Leave it to 
me," said Cornell. 

He turned to his men. The machine was slowly 
moving forward, drawn by a team of eight mules, 
depositing pipe as it went. A section had just been 
laid. Night was at hand. 

"Hurry up, boys," cried Cornell, cheerily. ""We 
must lay another length before we quit." 

He grasped the handles of his plough-hke machine ; 
the drivers stirred up the mules to a lively pace ; 
the contrivance went merrily forward. But the 



HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED. 267 

cunning pilot knew what he was about. He steered 
the buried point of the machine against a rock that 
just protruded from the earth. In an instant there 
was a shock, a sound of rending wood and iron, a 
noise of shouting and trampUng ; and then the hue 
of mules came to a halt. But behind them were only 
the ruins of a machine. That moment's work had 
converted the pipe-laying contrivance into kindling- 
wood and scrap-iron. 

The public condoled with the inventor. It was so 
unlucky that his promising progress should be 
stopped by such an accident ! As for Morse and his 
cunning associate, they smiled quietly to themselves 
as they went on with their experiments. Another 
kind of pipe was tried. Still the current would not 
go through. A year passed by. Experiment after 
experiment had been made. All had proved failures. 
Twenty-three thousand dollars of the money had been 
spent. Only seven thousand remained. The in- 
ventor was on the verge of despair. 

" I am afraid it will never work," said Cornell. 
" It looks bad for the pipe plan." 

" Then let us try the other," said Morse. " If the 
current won't go underground, it may be coaxed to 
go above-ground." 

The plan suggested was to string the wire upon 
poles, insulating it from the wood by some non-con- 
ductor. A suitable insulator was needed. Cornell 
devised one ; another inventor produced another. 
Morse approved of the latter, started for New York 
with it to make arrangements for its manufacture, 
and on his way met Professor Henry, who knew 



268 HISTORICAL TALES. 

more about electricity than any other man in the 
country. Morse showed him the models of the two 
insulators, and indicated the one he had chosen. 
Mr. Henry examined them closely. 

" You are mistaken," he said. " That one won't 
work. This is the insulator you need." He pointed 
to Cornell's device. 

In a few words he gave his reasons. Morse saw 
that he was right. The Cornell insulator was chosen. 
And now the work went forward with great rapidity. 
The planting of poles, and stringing of wires over a 
glass insulator at their tops, was an easy and rapid 
process. And more encouraging still, the thing 
worked to a charm. There was no trouble now in 
obtaining signals from the wire. 

The first public proof of the system was made on 
May 11, 1844. On that day the Whig National 
Convention, then in session at Baltimore, had nomi- 
nated Henry Clay for the Presidency. The tele- 
graph was being built from the Washington end, 
and was yet miles distant from Baltimore. The first 
railroad train from Baltimore carried passengers 
who were eager to tell the tidings to their Washing- 
ton friends. But it carried also an agent of Pro- 
fessor Morse, who brought the news to the inventor 
at the unfinished end of the telegraph. From that 
point he sent it over the wire to Washington. It 
was successfully received at the Washington end, 
and never were human beings more surprised than 
were the train passengers on alighting at the capital 
city to find that they brought stale news, and that 
Clay's nomination was already known throughout 



HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED. 269 

Washington. It was tho first public proof in 
America of the powers of the telegraph, and cer- 
tainly a vital and convincing one. 

Before the 24th of May the telegraph line to Bal- 
timore was completed, the tests successfully made, 
and all was ready for the public exhibition of its 
marvellous powers, which had been fixed for that 
day. Miss Ellsworth, in compliance with the in- 
ventor's promise, made her more than a year before, 
was given the privilege of choosing the first message 
to go over the magic wires. She selected the appro- 
priate passage from Scriptures: "What hath God 
wrought?" With these significant words began 
the reio-n of that marvellous invention which has 
wrought so wonderfully in binding the ends of the 
earth together and making one family of mankind. 
There were difficulties still in the way of the in- 
ventor, severe ones. His after-life lay in no bed of 
roses. His patents were violated, his honor was 
questioned, even his integrity was assailed ; rival com- 
panies stole his business, and lawsuits made his life 
a burden. He won at last, but failed to have the 
success of his associate, Mr. Cornell, who grew in 
time very wealthy from his telegraphic enterprises. 

As regards the Morse system of telegraphy, it 
may be said in conclusion that over one hundred 
devices have been invented to supersede it, but that 
it holds its own triumphant over them all. The in- 
ventor wrought with his brain to good purpose in 
those days and nights of mental discipline above 
the Atlantic waves and on board the good ship 

Sully. 

23* 



THE MONITOR AND THE 
MERRIMAC 

On the 9th of March, 1862, for the first time in 
human history, two iron-clad shij)s met in battle. 
The occasion was a memorable one, and its story is well 
worthy of being retold in our cycle of historic events. 
For centuries, for thousands of years, in truth, 
wooden vessels had been struggling for the mastery 
of the seas. With the first shot fired from the turret 
of the Monitor at the roof-like sides of the Merri- 
mac, in the early morning of the day named, the long 
reign of wooden war vessels ended; that of iron 
monarchs of the deep began. England could no 
more trust to her "wooden walls" for safety, and all 
the nations of Europe, when the echo of that shot 
reached their ears, felt that the ancient era of naval 
construction was at an end, and that the future na 
vies of the world must ride the waves clad in massive 
armor of steel. 

On the 8th of March, indeed, this had been shown. 
On that day the Merrimac steamed down from Nor- 
folli harbor into Hampton Eoads, where lay a fleet 
of wooden men-of-war, some of them the largest 
sailing frigates then in the American navy. On 
shore soldiers were encamped, here Union, there Con- 
270 



THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC. 271 

federate ; and the inmates of the camps, the garrison 
of Fortress Monroe, the crews of the ships at anchor 
under its guns, all gazed with eager eyes over the 
open waters of the bay, their interest in the coming 
contest as intense as Eoman audience ever displayed 
for the life and death struggle in the gladiatorial 
arena. Before them lay a mightier amphitheatre 
than that of the Coliseum, and before them was to 
be fought a more notable struggle for life and death 
than ever took place within the walls of mighty 
Eome. 

It was in the afternoon of the 8th, about one o'clock, 
that the long roll sounded in the camps on shore, 
and the cry resounded from camp to camp, "The 
Merrimac is coming!" For several weeks she had 
been looked for, and preparations made for her re- 
ception. The frigates bore a powerful armament of 
heavy guns, ready to batter her iron-clad sides, and 
strong hopes were entertained that this modern levi- 
athan would soon cease to trouble the deep. The 
lesson fixed by fate for that day had not yet been 
learned. 

Down the bay she came, looking at a distance like 
a flood-borne house, its sides drowned, only its sloping 
roof visible. The strange-appearing craft moved 
slowly, accompanied by two small gunboats as ten- 
ders. As she came near no signs of life were visible, 
while her iron sides displayed no evidence of guns. 
Yet within that threatening monster was a crew of 
three hundred men, and her armament embraced ten 
heavy cannon. Hinged lids closed the gun-ports ; 
raised only when the guns were thrust forward 



272 HISTORICAL TALES. 

for firing. As for the men, they were hidden 
somewhere under that iron roof j to be felt, but not 
seen. 

What followed has been told in song and story ; it 
need be repeated here but in epitome. The first 
assault of the Merrimac was upon the Cumberland, 
a thirty-gun frigate. Again and again the thirty 
heavy balls of the frigate rattled upon the impene- 
trable sides of the iron-clad monster, and bounded 
off uselessly into the deep. The Merrimac came on 
at full speed, as heedless of this fusillade as though 
she was being fired at with peas. As she approached, 
two heavy balls from her guns tore through the tim- 
bers of the Cumberland. They were followed by a 
stunning blow from her iron beak, that opened a 
gaping wound in the defenceless side of her victim. 
Then she drew off, leaving her broken beak sticking 
in the ship's side, and began firing broadsides into 
the helpless frigate ; raking her fore and aft with 
shell and grape, despite the fact that she had already 
got her death-blow, and was rapidly filling with 
water. 

Never ship was fought more nobly than the doomed 
Cumberland. With the decks sinking under their 
feet, the men fought with unflinching courage. When 
the bow guns were under water, the rear guns were 
made to do double duty. The captain was called on 
to surrender. He sternly refused. The last shot was 
fired from a gun on a level with the waves. Then, 
with sails spread and flags flying, the Cumberland 
went down, carrying with her nearly one hundred 
of her crew, the remainder swimming ashore. The 



THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC. 273 

water was deep, but the topmast of the doomed ves- 
sel still rose above the surface, with its pennant 
waving in the wind. For months afterwards that old 
flag continued to fly, as if to say, " The Cumberland 
sinks, but never surrenders." 

The Congress, a fifty-gun frigate, was next at- 
tacked, and handled so severely that her commander 
ran her ashore, and soon after hoisted the white flag, 
destruction appearing inevitable. Boats were sent 
by the enemy to take possession, but a sharp fire 
from the shore drove them off. 

" Is this in accordance with military law ?" asked 
one of the officers in the camp. " Since the ship has 
surrendered, has not the enemy the right to take 
possession of her ?" 

This legal knot was quickly and decisively cut by 
General Mansfield, in an unanswerable decision. 

" I know the d d ship has surrendered," he 

said. " But M^e haven't." And the firing continued. 

The Merrimac, not being able to seize her prize, 
opened fire with hot shot on the Congress, and 
quickly set her on fire. Night was now at hand, and 
the conquering iron-clad drew off. The Congress 
continued to burn, her loaded guns roaring her 
requiem one after another, as the fire spread along 
her decks. About one o'clock her magazine was 
reached, and she blew up with a tremendous explo- 
sion, the shock being so great as to prostrate many 
of those on the shore. 

So ended that momentous day. It had shown one 
thing conclusively, that "wooden walls" could no 
longer "rule the wave." Iron had proved its su- 
I. — s 



274 HISTORICAL TALES. 

periority in naval construction. The next day was 
to behold another novel sight, — the struggle of iron 
with iron. 

Morning came. The atmosphere was hazy. Only 
as the mist slowly lifted were the gladiators of that 
liquid arena successively made visible. Here, just 
above the water, defiantly floated the flag of the 
sunken Cumberland. There smoked the still-burn- 
ing hull of the Congress. Here, up the bay, steamed 
the Merrimac, with two attendants, the Yorktown 
and the Patrick Henry. Yonder lay the great hull 
of the steam-frigate Minnesota, which had taken 
some part in the battle of the' day before, but had 
unfortunately gone ashore on a mud-bank, from 
which the utmost efforts failed to force her off. 
Other Union naval vessels were visible in the dis- 
tance. 

The Merrimac made her way towards the Min- 
nesota, as towards a certain prey. Her commander 
felt confident that an hour or two would enable him 
to reduce this great vessel to the condition of her 
recent companions. 

Yet an odd sight met his vision. Alongside the 
Minnesota floated the strangest-looking craft that 
human eye had ever gazed upon. An insignificant 
affair it appeared ; a " cheese-box on a raft" it was 
irreverently designated. The deck, a level expanse 
of iron, came scarcely above the surface. Above it 
rose a circular turret, capable of being revolved, and 
with port-holes for two great guns, among the largest 
up to that time used in naval warfare. 

How this odd contrivance came there so opportunely 







1 





THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAO. 275 

may be briefly told. It was the conception of John 
Ericsson, the eminent Swedish engineer, and was 
being rapidly built in New York while the Merri- 
mac was being plated with thick iron bars in Nor- 
folk. A contest for time took place between these 
two unlike craft. Spies were in both places, to 
report progress. Fortunately, the Monitor was fin- 
ished a day or two before her competitor. Imme- 
diately she steamed away for Hampton Eoads. 
The passage was a severe one. Three days were 
consumed, during which the seas swept repeatedly 
over the low deck, the men being often half suffo- 
cated in their confined quarters, the turret alone 
standing above the water. As they approached For- 
tress Monroe the sound of cannonading was heard. 
Tarrying but a few minutes at the fort, the Moni- 
tor, as this odd vessel had been named, approached 
the Minnesota, and reached her side at a late hour 
of the night. 

And now, with the new day, back to the fray came 
the Merrimac, looking like a giant in comparison 
with this dwarfish antagonist. As she approached, 
the little craft glided swiftly in front of her grounded 
consort, like a new David offering battle to a modern 
Groliath. As if in disdain of this puny antagonist, 
the Merrimac began an attack on the Minnesota. 
But when the two eleven-inch guns of the Monitor 
opened fire, hurling solid balls of one hundred and 
sixty-eight pounds' weight against the iron sides of 
her great opponent, it became at once evident that 
a new move had opened in the game, and that the 
Merrimac had no longer the best of the play. 



276 HISTORICAL TALES. 

The fight that followed was an extraordinary one, 
and was gazed on with intense interest by the throng 
of spectators who crowded the shores of the bay. 
The Merrimac had no solid shot, as she had ex- 
pected only wooden antagonists. Her shells were 
hurled upon the Monitor, but most of them missed 
their mark, and those that struck failed to do any 
injury. So small was the object fired at that the 
great shells, as a rule, whirled uselessly by, and 
plunged hissing into the waves. The massive solid 
balls of the Monitor were far more effective. 
^Nearly every one struck the broad sides of the 
Merrimac, breaking her armor in several places, 
and shattering the wood backing behind it. Many 
times the Merrimac tried to ram her small an- 
tagonist, and thus to rid herself of this teasing tor- 
mentor, but the active " cheese-box" slipped agilely 
out of her way. The Monitor in turn tried to dis- 
able the screw of her opponent, but without success. 

Unable to do any harm to her dwarfish foe, the 
Merrimac now, as if in disdain, turned her atten- 
tion to the Minnesota, hurling shells through her 
side. In return the frigate poured into her a whole 
broadside at close range. 

" It was enough," said the captain of the frigate 
afterwards, "to have blown out of the water any 
wooden ship in the world." It was wasted on the 
iron-clad foe. 

This change of action did not please the captain 
of the Monitor. He thrust his vessel quickly be- 
tween the two combatants, and assailed so sharply 
that the Merrimac steamed away. The Monitor 



THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC. 277 

followed. Suddenly the fugitive vessel turned, and, 
like an animal moved by an impulse of fury, rushed 
head on upon her tormentor. Her beak struck the 
flat iron deck so sharply as to be wrenched by the 
blow. The great hull seemed for the moment as if 
it would crowd the low-lying vessel bodily beneath 
the waves. But no such result followed. The 
Monitor glided away unharmed. As she went she 
sent a ball against the Merrimac that seemed to 
crush in her armored sides. 

At ten o'clock the Monitor steamed away, as if 
in flight. The Merrimac now prepared to pay atten- 
tion again to the Minnesota, her captain deeming 
that he had silenced his tormenting foe. He was 
mistaken. In half an hour the Monitor, having 
hoisted a new supply of balls into her turret, was 
back again, and for two hours more the strange 
battle continued. 

Then it came to an end. The Merrimac turned 
and ran away. She had need to, — those on shore 
saw that she was sagging down at the stern. The 
battle was over. The turreted iron-clad had driven 
her great antagonist from the field, and won the 
victory. And thus ended one of the strangest and 
most notable naval combats in history. 

During the fight the Monitor had fired forty- 
one shots, and been struck twenty-two times. Her 
greatest injury was the shattering of her pilot-house. 
Her commander. Lieutenant Worden, was knocked 
senseless and temporarily blinded by the shock. On 
board the Merrimac two men were killed and 
nineteen wounded. Her iron prow was gone, her 

21 



278 HISTORICAL TALES. 

armor broken and damaged, her steam-pipe and 
smoke-stack riddled, the muzzles of two of her guns 
shot away, while water made its way into her through 
more than one crevice. 

Back to Norfolk went the injured Merrimac. 
Here she was put into the dry-dock and hastily re- 
paired. After that had been done, she steamed down 
to the old fighting-ground on two or three occasions, 
and challenged her small antagonist. The Monitor 
did not accept the challenge. If any accident had 
happened to her the rest of the fleet would have 
been lost, and it was deemed wisest to hold her back 
for emergencies. 

On the 10th of May the Confederates marched 
out of Norfolk. On the 11th the Merrimac was 
blown up, and only her disabled hull remained as a 
trophy to the victors. As to her condition and fight- 
ing powers, one of the engineers who had charge of 
the repairs upon her said, — 

"A shot from the Monitor entered one of her 
ports, lodged in the backing of the other side, and 
so shivered her timbers that she never afterwards 
could be made seaworthy. She could not have been 
kept afloat for twelve hours, and her oflicers knew 
it when they went out and dared the Monitor to 
fight her. It was a case of pure bluff; we didn't 
hold a single pair." 

The combat we have recorded was perhaps the 
most important in the history of naval warfare. It 
marked a turning-point in the construction of the 
monarchs of the deep, by proving that the future 
battles of the sea must be fought behind iron walls. 



STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE. 

On a fine day in April, 1863, a passenger-train drew 
out from Marietta, Georgia, bound north. Those 
were not days of abundant passenger travel in the 
South, except for those who wore the butternut 
uniform and carried muskets, but this train was well 
filled, and at Marietta a score of men in civilian 
dress had boarded the cars. Soldierly-looking fellows 
these were too, not the kind that were likely to eS' 
cape long the clutch of the Confederate conscription. 

Eight miles north of Marietta the train stopped 
at the station of Big Shanty, with the welcome an- 
nouncement of " Ten minutes for breakfast." Out 
from the train, like bees from the hive, swarmed the 
hungry passengers, and made their way with all 
speed to the lunch-counter, followed more deliber- 
ately by conductor, engineer, and brakesmen. The 
demands of the lunch-counter are of universal po- 
tency ; few have the hardihood to resist them ; that 
particular train was emptied in the first of its ten 
minutes of grace. 

Yet breakfast did not seem to appeal to all upon 
the train. The Marietta group of civilians left the 
train with the others, but instead of seeking the re- 
freshment-room, turned their steps towards the loco- 
motive. !N"o one noticed them, though there was a 

279 



280 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Confederate camp hard by the station, well filled 
with raw recruits, and hardly a dozen steps from the 
engine a sentinel steadily walked his beat, rifle on 
shoulder. 

One of the men climbed into the engine. The 
sentinel paid no heed to him. Another slipped in 
between two cars, and pulled out a coupling-pin. 
The sentinel failed to observe him. A group of others 
climbed quickly into an open box-car. The sentinel 
looked at them, and walked serenely on. The last 
man of the party now strode rapidly up the platform, 
nodded to the one in the locomotive, and swung him- 
self lightly into the cab. The sentinel turned at the 
end of his beat and walked back, just beginning to 
wonder what all this meant. Meanwhile famine was 
being rapidly appeased at the lunch- counter within, 
and the not very luxurious display of food was van- 
ishing like a field of wheat before an army of locusts. 

Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rung with 
warning sound through the air. The drowsy tenants 
of the camp sprang to their feet. The conductor 
hurried out to the platform. He had heard some- 
thing besides the rifle-shot, — the grind of wheels on 
the track, — and his eyes opened widely in alarm and 
astonishment as he saw that the train was broken in 
two, and half of it running away. The passenger- 
cars stood where he had left them. The locomotive, 
with three box-cars, was flying rapidly up the track. 
The sentinel, roused to a sense of the situation only 
when he saw the train in actual flight, had somewhat 
late given the alarm. 

The conductor's eyes opened very wide. The 



STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE. 281 

engine, under a full head of steam, was driving up the 
road. The locomotive had been stolen ! Out from 
the refreshment-room poured passengers and train- 
men, filled with surprise and chagrin. What did it 
mean ? What was to be done ? There was no other 
engine within miles. How should these daring thieves 
ever be overtaken ? Their capture seemed a forlorn 
hope. 

The conductor, wild with alarm and dreading rep- 
rimand, started up the track on foot, running as fast 
as his legs could carry him. A railroad mechanic 
named Murphy kept him company. To one with a 
love of humor it would have been an amusing sight 
to see two men on foot chasing a locomotive, but just 
then Conductor Fuller was not troubled about the 
opinion of men of humor ; his one thought was to 
overtake his runaway locomotive, and he would have 
crawled after it if no better way appeared. 

Fortune comes to him who pursues her, not to him 
who waits her coming. The brace of locomotive 
chasers had not run down their strength before they 
were lucky enough to spy a hand-car, standing beside 
the track. Here was a gleam of hope. In a minute 
or two they had lifted it upon the rails. Springing 
within it, they applied themselves to the levers, and 
away they went at a more promising rate of speed. 

For a mile or two all went on swimmingly. Then 
sudden disaster came. The car struck a broken rail 
and was hurled headlong from the track, sending 
its occupants flying into the muddy roadside ditch. 
This was enough to discourage anybody with less go 
in him than Conductor Fuller. But in a moment he 

24* 



282 HISTORICAL TALES. 

was on his feet, trying his limbs. No bones were 
broken. A mud-bath was the ftiU measure of his 
misfortune. Murphy was equally sound. The car 
was none the worse. With scarce a minute's delay 
they sprang to it, righted it, and with some strong 
tugging lifted it upon the track. With very few min- 
utes' delay they were away again, somewhat more 
cautiously than before, and sharply on the lookout 
for further gifts of broken rails from the runaways 
ahead. 

Leaving the pair of pursuers to their seemingly 
hopeless task, we must return to the score of loco- 
motive pirates. These men who had done such 
strange work at Big Shanty were by no means what 
they seemed. They were clad in the butternut gray 
and the slouch hats of the Confederacy, but their 
ordinary attire was the blue uniform of the Union 
army. They were, in truth, a party of daring scouts, 
who had stealthily made their way south in disguise, 
their purpose being to steal a train, burn the bridges 
behind them as they fled, and thus make useless 
for a time the only railroad by which the Confed- 
erate authorities could send troops to Chattanooga, 
then threatened by the Union forces under General 
Mitchell. 

They had been remarkably successful, as we have 
seen, at the beginning of their enterprise. Making 
their way, by devious routes, to Marietta, they had 
gathered at that place, boarded a train, and started 
north. The rush of passengers and trainmen into 
the refreshment-room at Big Shanty had been cal- 
culated upon. The presence of a Confederate camp 



STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE. 283 

at that out-of-the-way station had not been. It 
might have proved fatal to their enterprise but for 
the stolid stupidity of the sentinel. But that peril 
had been met and passed. They were safely away. 
Exhilaration filled their souls. All was safe behind ; 
all seemed safe ahead. 

True, there was one peril close at hand. Beside 
the track ran that slender wire, a resting-place, it 
seemed, for passing birds. In that outstretching 
wire their most imminent danger lurked. Fast as 
they might go, it could flash the news of their exploit 
a thousand-fold faster. The flight of the lightning 
news-bearer must be stopped. The train was halted 
a mile or two from the town, the pole climbed, the 
wire cut. Danger from this source was at an end. 
Halting long enough to tear up the rail to whose 
absence Conductor Fuller owed his somersault, they 
sprang to their places again and the runaway train 
sped blithely on. 

Several times they stopped for wood and water. 
When any questions were asked they were answered 
by the companion of the engineer, James J. Andrews 
by name, a Union spy by profession, the originator 
of and leader in this daring enterprise. 

" I am taking a train-load of powder to General 
Beauregard," was his stereotyped answer, as he 
pointed to the closed box-cars behind him, within 
one of which lay concealed the bulk of his confed- 
erates. 

For some time they went swimmingly on, without 
delay or difficulty. Yet trouble was in the air, ill- 
fortune awaiting them in front, pursuing them from 



284 HISTORICAL TALES. 

behind. They had, by the fatality of unlucky chance, 
chosen the wrong day for their work. Yesterday 
they would have found a clear track; to-day the 
road ahead was blocked with trains, hurrying swiftly 
southward. 

At Kingston, thirty miles from Big Shanty, this 
trouble came upon them in a rush. A local train 
was to pass at that point. Andrews was well aware 
of this, and drew his train upon the siding to let it 
pass, expecting when it had gone to find the road 
clear to Chattanooga. The train came in on time, 
halted, and on its last car was seen waving the red 
danger-flag, the railroad signal that another train 
was following close behind. Andrews looked at this 
with no friendly eyes. 

" How comes it," he asked the conductor, some- 
what shai-ply, " that the road is blocked in this 
manner, when I have orders to take this powder to 
Beam-egard without delay ?" 

"Mitchell has taken Huntsville," answered the 
conductor. " They say he is coming to Chattanooga. 
"We are getting everything out of there as quickly 
as we can." 

This looked serious. How many trains might 
there be in the rear? A badly-blocked road meant 
ruin to their enterprise and possibly death to them- 
selves. They waited with intense anxiety, each 
minute of delay seeming to stretch almost into an 
hour. The next train came. They watched it pass 
with hopeful eyes. Ah ! upon its rear floated that 
fatal red flag, the crimson emblem of death, as it 
seemed to them. 



STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE. 285 

The next train came. Still the red flag! Still 
hope deferred, danger coming near! An hour of 
frightful anxiety passed. It was torture to those 
upon the engine. It was agony to those in the box- 
car, who knew nothing of the cause of this frightful 
delay, and to whom life itself must have seemed to 
have stopped. 

Andrews had to cast off every appearance of anx- 
iety and to feign easy indifference, for the station 
people were showing somewhat too much curiosity 
about this train, whose crew were strangers, and 
concerning which the telegraph had sent them no 
advices. The practised spy was full of resources, 
but their searching questions taxed him for satisfy- 
ing answers. 

At length, after more than an hour's delay, the 
blockade was broken. A train passed destitute of the 
red flag. The relief was great. They had waited at 
that station like men with the hangman's rope upon 
their necks. Now the track to Chattanooga was 
clear and success seemed assured. The train began 
to move. It slowly gathered speed. Up went hope 
in the hearts of those upon the engine. New life 
flowed in the veins of those within the car as they 
heard the grinding sound on the rails beneath them, 
and felt the motion of their prison upon wheels. 

Yet perilous possibilities were in their rear. Their 
delay at Kingston had been threateningly long. 
They must guard against pursuit. Stopping the train, 
and seizing their tools, they sprang out to tear up a 
rail. Suddenly, as they worked at this, a sound met 
their ears that almost caused them to drop their tools 



286 HISTORICAL TALES. 

in dismay. It was the far-off bugle blast of a loco- 
motive whistle sounding from the direction from 
which they had come. 

The Confederates, then, were on their track I They 
had failed to distance pursuit ! The delay at Kings- 
ton had given their enemies the needed time ! 
Nervous with alarm, they worked like giants. The 
rail yielded slightly. It bent. A few minutes more 
and it would be torn from its fastenings. A few 
minutes! Not a minute could be spared for this 
vital work. For just then the wbistle shrieked 
again, now close at hand, the rattle of wheels could 
be heard in the distance, and round a curve behind 
them came a locomotive speeding up the road with 
what seemed frantic haste, and filled with armed 
men, who shouted in triumph at sight of the dis- 
mayed fugitives. It was too late to finish their 
work. Nothing remained to the raiders but to 
spring to their engine and cars and fly for life. 

We have seen the beginnings of this pursuit. We 
must now go back to trace the doings of the forlorn- 
hope of pursuers. Fuller and his companion. After 
their adventure with the broken rail, that brace of 
worthies pushed on in their hand-car till the station 
of Etowah was reached. Here, by good fortune for 
them, an engine stood with steam up, ready for the 
road. Fuller viewed it with eyes of hope. The 
game, he felt, was in his hands. For he knew, what 
the raiders had not known, that the road in advance 
would be blocked that day with special trains, and 
on a one-tracked road special trains are an impassable 
obstacle. 



STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE. 287 

There were soldiers at Etowah. Fuller's story of 
the daring trick of the Yankees gave him plenty of 
volunteers. He filled the locomotive and its cab 
with eager allies, and drove on at the greatest speed 
of which his engine was capable, hoping to overtake 
the fugitives at Kingston. He reached that place ; 
they were not there. Hurried questions taught him 
that they were barely gone, with very few minutes 
the start. Away he went again, sending his alarm 
whistle far down the road in his front. 

The race was now one for life or death. Andrews 
and his men well knew what would be their fate if 
they were caught. They dared not stop and fight ; 
their only arms were revolvers, and they were out- 
numbered by their armed foes. Their only hope lay 
in flight. Away they went ; on came their shouting 
pursuers. Over the track thundered both loco- 
motives at frightful speed. The partly-raised rail 
proved no obstacle to the pursuers. They were 
over it with a jolt and a jump, and away on the 
smooth track ahead. 

If the fugitives could have halted long enough to 
tear up a rail or burn a bridge all might have been 
well ; but that would take more minutes than they 
had to spare. A shrewd idea came into Andrews's 
fertile mind. The three box-cars behind him were 
a useless load. One of them might be usefully spared. 
The rear car of the train was uncoupled and left be- 
hind, with the hope that the pursuers might unwit- 
tingly dash into it and be wrecked. On they went, 
leaving a car standing on the track. 

Fortunately for the Confederates, they saw the 



288 HISTORICAL TALES. 

obstruction in time to prepare for it. Their engine 
was slowed up, and the car caught and pushed before 
it. Andrews tried the device a second time, another 
car being dropped. It was picked up by Fuller in 
the same manner as before. On reaching a siding at 
Eesaca station, the Confederate engineer switched 
off these supernumerary cars, and pushed ahead 
again relieved of his load. 

!N'ot far beyond was a bridge which the raiders had 
intended to destroy. It could not be done. The 
pursuit was too sharp. They dashed on over its 
creaking planks, having time for nothing but head- 
long flight. The race was a remarkably even one, 
the engines proving to be closely matched in speed. 
Fuller, despite all his efforts, failed to overtake the 
fugitives, but he was resolved to push them so sharply 
that they would have no time to damage track or 
bridges, or take on wood or water. In the latter 
necessity Andrews got the better of him. His men 
knocked out the end of the one box-car they had 
left, and dropped the ties with which it was loaded 
one by one upon the track, delajnng the pursuers 
sufficiently to enable them to take on some fresh 
fuel. 

Onward again went the chase, mile after mile, over 
a rough track, at a frightful speed, the people along 
the route looking on with wondering eyes. It 
seemed marvellous that the engines could cling to 
those unevenly-laid rails. The escape of the pursu- 
ers, was, indeed, almost miraculous, for Andrews 
found time to stop just beyond a curve and lay a 
loose rail on the track, and Fuller's engine ran upon 



STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE. 289 

this at full Bpeed. There came a terrific jolt ; the 
engine seemed to leap into the air ; but by a marvel- 
lous chance it lighted again on the rails and ran on 
unharmed. Had it missed the track not a man on it 
would have lived to tell the tale. 

The position of the fugitives was now desperate. 
Some of them wished to leave the engine, reverse its 
valves, and send it back at full speed to meet the foe. 
Others suggested that they should face the enemy 
and fight for their lives. Andrews was not ready to 
accept either of these plans. He decided to go on 
and do the work for which they had set out, if pos- 
sible. He knew the road. There was a covered 
bridge a few miles ahead. If they could burn this 
all would be well. He determined to try. 

There was one box-car left. That might serve his 
purpose. He had his men pile wood on its floor, and 
light this with coals from the engine. In a minute 
it was burning. The draught made by the rushing 
train soon blew the fire into a roaring flame. By 
the time the bridge was reached the whole car was 
in a fierce blaze. 

Andrews slowed up and uncoupled this blazing 
car on the bridge. He stopped the engine just be- 
yond, and he and his companions watched it hope- 
fully. The flames curled fiercely upward. Dense 
smoke poured out at each end of the covered bridge. 
Success seemed to be at length in their hands. But 
the flames failed to do their work. The roof of the 
bridge had been soaked by recent rains and resisted 
the blazing heat. The roaring flames were uselessly 
licking the wet timbers when the pursuing engine 
I.— N t 25 



290 HISTORICAL TALES. 

came dashing up. Fuller did not hesitate for a min- 
ute. He had the heart of a soldier in the frame of a 
conductor. Into the blinding smoke his engine was 
daringly driven, and in a minute it had caught the 
blazing car and was pushing it forward. A minute 
more and it rolled into the open air, and the bridge 
was saved. Its timbers had stubbornly refused to 
burn. 

This ended the hopes of the fugitives. They had 
exhausted their means of checking pursuit. Their 
wood had been all consumed in this fruitless effort ; 
their steam was rapidly going down; they had 
played their last card and lost the game. The men 
sprang from the slo wed-up engine. The engineer 
reversed its valves and followed them. Into the 
fields they rushed and ran in all directions, their only 
hope being now in their own powers of flight. As 
they sped away the engines met, but without dam- 
age. The steam in the stolen engine had so fallen 
that it was incapable of doing harm. The other 
engine had been stopped, and the pursuers were 
springing agilely to the ground, and hurrying into 
the fields in hot chase. 

Pursuit through field and forest was as keen and 
unrelenting as it had been over iron rails. The Union 
lines were not far distant, yet not a man of the fugi- 
tives succeeded in reaching them. The alarm spread 
with great rapidity ; the whole surrounding country 
was up in pursuit ; and before that day ended several 
of the daring raiders were prisoners in Confederate 
hands. The others buried themselves in woods and 
swamps, lived on roots and berries, and ventured 



STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE. 291 

from their hiding-places only at night. Yet they 
were hunted with unwearying persistence, and by 
the end of a week all but two had been captured. 
These two had so successfully eluded pursuit that 
they fancied themselves out of danger, and became 
somewhat careless in consequence. As a result, in a 
few days more th6y, too, fell into the hands of their 
foes. 

A court-martial was convened. The attempt had 
been so daring, and so nearly successful, the injury 
intended so great, and the whole affair so threaten- 
ing, that the Confederate military authorities could 
not think of leniency. Andrews and seven of his 
companions were condemned to death and hung. 
Their graves may be seen to-day in the Soldiers' 
Cemetery at Chattanooga, monuments to one of the 
most daring and reckless enterprises in the history 
of the Civil War. The others were imprisoned. 
From all that we are told of Confederate military 
prisons, the executed men were the fortunate mem- 
bers of the party. 



AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON. 

During the winter of 1864 certain highly inter- 
esting operations were going on in the underground 
region of the noted Libby Prison, at Eichmond, Vir- 
ginia, at that time the by no means luxurious or 
agreeable home of some eleven hundred officers of 
the United States army. These operations, by means 
of which numerous captives were to make their way 
to fresh air and freedom, are abundantly worthy of 
being told, as an evidence of the ingenuity of man 
and the amount of labor and hardship he is wilHng 
to give in exchange for liberty. 

Libby Prison was certainly not of palatial dimen- 
sions or accommodations. Before the war it had 
been a tobacco warehouse, situated close by the 
Lynchburg Canal, and a short distance from James 
Eiver, whose waters ran by in full view of the long- 
ing eyes which gazed upon them from the close- 
barred prison windows. For the story which we 
have to tell some description of the make-up of this 
place of detention is a necessary preliminary. The 
building was three stories high in front, and four in 
the rear, its dimensions being one hundred and sixty- 
five by one hundred and five feet. 1 1 was strongly built, 
of brick and stone, while very thick partition walls 
292 









4- 






fT^l r" ' f I f^*^ji!B» j 



/"'•jsffis'" / 



.„„J^ 




AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON. 293 

of brick divided it internally into three sections. 
Each section had its cellar, one of them, with which 
we are particularly concerned, being unoccupied. 
The others were occasionally used. The first floor 
had three apartments, one used by the prison author- 
ities, one as a hospital, while the middle one served 
the prisoners as a cooking- and dining-room. The 
second and third stories were the quarters of the 
prisoners, where, in seven rooms, more than eleven 
hundred United States officers ate, slept, and did all 
the duties of life for many months. It may even be 
said that they enjoyed some of the pleasures of life, 
for though the discipline was harsh and the food 
scanty and poor, man's love of enjoyment is not 
easily to be repressed, and what with occasional 
minstrel and theatrical entertainments amonsrthem- 
selves, fencing exercises with wooden swords, games 
of cards, checkers and chess, study of languages, 
military tactics, etc., and other entertainments and 
pastimes, they managed somewhat to overcome the 
monotony of prison life and the hardship of prison 
discipline. 

As regards chances of escape, they were very poor. 
A strong guard constantly surrounded the prison, and 
such attempts at escape as were made were rarely 
successful. The only one that had measurable suc- 
cess is that which we have to describe, in which a 
body of prisoners played the role of rats or beavers, 
and got out of Libby by an underground route. 

The tunnel enterprise was the project of a few 
choice spirits only. It was too perilous to confide to 
many. The disused cellar was chosen as the avenue 

25* 



294 HISTORICAL TALES. 

of escape. It was never visited, and might be used 
with safety. But how to get there was a difficult 
question to solve. And how to hide the fact that 
men were absent from roll-call was another. The 
latter difficulty was got over by several expedients. 
If Lieutenant Jones, for instance, was at work in 
the tunnel, Captain Smith would answer for him; 
then, when Smith was pronounced absent, he would 
step forward and declare that he had answered to 
his own name. His presence served as sure proof 
that he had not been absent. Other and still more 
ingenious methods were at times adopted, and the 
authorities were completely hoodwinked in this par- 
ticular. 

And now as regards the difficulty of entering the 
cellar. The cooking-room on the first floor con- 
tained, in its thick brick and stone partition, a fire- 
place, in front of which, partly masking it, three 
stoves were placed for the cooking operations of the 
prisoners. The floor of this fireplace was chosen as 
the initial point of excavation, from which a sloping 
passage might be made, under the floor of the next 
room, into the disused cellar. 

Captain Hamilton, a stonemason by trade, began 
the excavation, removing the first brick and stone 
from the fireplace. It need scarcely be said that 
this work was done only at night, and with as little 
noise as possible. By day the opening was carefully 
closed, the bricks and stones being so ingeniously 
replaced that no signs of disturbance appeared. 
Thick as the wall was, a passage was quickly made 
through it, presenting an easy route to the cellar 



AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON. 295 

below. As for this cellar, it was dark, rarely or 
never opened, and contained only some old boxes, 
boards, straw, and the like debris, and an abundance 
of rats. 

The cellar reached, and the route to it carefully 
concealed by day alike from the prison authorities 
and the prisoners not in the secret, the question of 
the tunnel followed. There were two possible routes. 
One of these led southward, towards the canal ; the 
other eastward, under a narrow street, on the oppo- 
site side of which was a yard and stable, with a 
high board fence on the street side. The opposite 
side of the yard faced a warehouse. 

A tunnel was commenced towards the canal. But 
it quickly struck a sewer whose odor was more than 
the workers could endure. It was abandoned, and 
a tunnel begun eastward, the most difficult part of 
it being to make an opening in the thick foundation 
wall. The hope of liberty, however, will bear man 
up through the most exhausting labors, and this 
fatiguing task was at length successfully performed. 
The remainder of the excavation was through earth, 
and was easier, though much the reverse of easy. 

A few words will tell what was to be done, and 
how it was accomplished. The tunnel began near 
the floor of the cellar, eight or nine feet underground. 
Its length would need to be seventy or eighty feet. 
Only one man could work in it at a time, and this 
he had to do while crawling forward with his face 
downward, and with such tools as pocket-knives, 
small hatchets, sharp pieces of wood, and a broken 
fire-shovel. After the opening had made some pro- 



296 HISTORICAL TALES. 

gress two men could work in it, one digging, the 
other carrying back the earth, for which work frying- 
pans were brought into use. 

Another point of some little importance was the dis- 
posal of the dirt. This was carelessly scattered over 
the cellar floor, with straw thrown over it, and some 
of it placed in boxes and barrels. The whole amount 
was not great, and not likely to be noticed if the 
oflScials should happen to enter the cellar, which had 
not been cleaned for years. 

The work here described was begun in the latter 
part of January, 1864. So diligently was it prose- 
cuted that the tunnel was pronounced finished on 
the night of February 8. During this period only 
two or three men could work at once. It was, in- 
deed, frightfully exhausting labor, the confinement 
of the narrow passage and the difficulty of breath- 
ing in its foul air being not the least of the hard- 
ships to be endured. Work was prosecuted during 
part of the period night and day, the absence of a 
man from roll-call being concealed in various ways, 
as already mentioned. 

The secret had been kept well, but not too well. 
Some workers had divulged it to their friends. 
Others of the prisoners had discovered that some- 
thing was going on, and had been let into the affair 
on a pledge of secrecy. By the time the tunnel was 
completed its existence was known to something 
more than one hundred out of the eleven hundred 
prisoners. These were all placed on their word of 
honor to give no hint of the enterprise. 

The night of February 8 was signalized by the 



AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON. 297 

opening of the outward end of the tunnel. A pas- 
sage was dug upwards, and an opening made suffi- 
ciently large to permit the worker to take a look 
outward into the midnight air. What he saw gave 
him a frightful shock. The distance had been mis- 
calculated ; the opening was on the wrong side of 
the fence ; there in full sight was one of the sentinels, 
pacing his beat with loaded musket. 

Here was a situation that needed nerve and alert- 
ness. The protruded head was quickly withdrawn, 
and the earth which had been removed rapidly 
replaced, it being packed as tightly as possible from 
below to prevent its falling in. Word of the perilous 
error was sent back, and as the whisper passed from 
ear to ear every heart throbbed with a nervous shock. 
They had barely escaped losing the benefit of their 
weeks of exhausting labor. 

The opening had been at the outward edge of the 
fence. The tunnel was now run two feet farther, and 
an opening again made. It was now on the inside 
of the fence, and in a safe place, for the stable ad- 
joining the yard was disused. 

The evening of the 9th was that fixed upon for 
flight. At a little after nine o'clock the exodus 
began. Those in the secret made their way to the 
cooking-room. The fireplace passage was opened, 
and such was the haste to avail themselves of it that 
the men almost struggled for precedence. Eules had 
been made, but no order could be kept. Silence 
reigned, however. No voice was raised above a 
whisper ; every footstep was made as light as possible. 
It had been decided that fifty men should leave that 



298 HISTORICAL TALES. 

night, and fifty the next, the prison clerk being 
deceived at roll-call by an artifice which had been 
practised more than once before, that of men leaving 
one end of the line and regaining the other unseen, 
to answer to the names of others. But the risk of 
discovery was too great. Every man wanted to be 
among the first. It proved impossible to restrain 
the anxious prisoners. 

Down into the cellar passed a long line of descending 
men, dropping to its floor in rapid succession. Around 
the mouth of the tunnel a dense crowd gathered. 
But here only one man was allowed to pass at a time, 
on account of the bad air. The noise made in pass- 
ing through told those behind how long the tunnel 
was occupied. The instant the noise ceased another 
plunged in. 

The passage was no easy one. The tunnel was 
little more than wide enough to contain a man's body, 
and progress had to be made by kicking and scram- 
bling forward. Two or three minutes, however, 
sufficed for the journey, the one who had last emerged 
helping his companion to the upper air. 

Here was a carriage-way fronting southward, and 
leading into Canal Street, which ran along the Lynch- 
burg Canal. Four guards paced along the south 
side of the prison within plain view. The risk was 
great. On emerging from the carriage-way the 
fugitives would be in full sight of these guards. But 
the risk must be taken. Watching the street for a 
moment in which it was comparatively clear, one by 
one they passed out and walked deliberately along 
the canal, in the direction away from the prison, like 



AN ESCAPE PROM LIBBY PRISON. 299 

ordinary passers. This dangerous space was crossed 
with remarkable good fortune. If the guards noticed 
them at all, they must have taken them for ordinary 
citizens. The unusual number of passers, on that re- 
tired street, nearly the whole night long, does not 
seem to have attracted the attention of any of the 
guards. One hundred and nine escaped in all, yet 
not a man of them was challenged. 

Canal Street once left, the first breath of relief 
was drawn. Those who early escaped soon found 
themselves in well-lighted streets, many of the shops 
still open, and numerous citizens and soldiers prom- 
enading. No one took notice of the fugitives, who 
strolled along the streets in small groups, laughing 
and talking on indifferent subjects, and, with no sign 
of haste, directing their steps towards the outskirts 
of the city. 

As to what followed, there are almost as many 
adventures to relate as there were persons escaped. 
We shall confine ourselves to the narrative of one 
of them. Captain Earle, from whose story the par- 
ticulars above given have been condensed. With 
him was one companion, Captain Charles E. Eowan. 

They had provided themselves with a small quan- 
tity of food, but had no definite plans. It quickly 
occurred to them, however, that they had better 
make their way down the peninsula, towards Fortress 
Monroe, as the nearest locality where Union troops 
could probably be found. With the polar star for 
guide they set out, having left the perilous precincts 
of the city in their rear. 

To travel by night, to hide by day, was their chosen 



300 HISTORICAL TALES. 

plan. The end of their first night's journey found 
them in the vicinity of a swamp, some five miles 
from Eichmond. Here, hid behind a screen of brush- 
wood and evergreen bushes, they spent the long and 
anxious day, within hearing of the noises of the 
camps around the city, but without discovery. 

A day had made a gratifying change in their situ- 
ation. The day before they had been prisoners, with 
no apparent prospect of freedom for months. This 
day they were free, even if in a far from agreeable 
situation. Liberty solaced them for the weariness 
of that day's anxious vigil. How long they would 
remain free was the burning question of the hour. 
They were surrounded with perils. Could they hope 
to pass through them in safety ? This only the event 
could tell. 

The wintry cold was one of their difficulties. 
Their meagre stock of food was another. They 
divided this up into very small rations, with the hope 
that they could make it last for six days. The 
second night they moved in an easterly direction, 
and near morning ventured to approach a small 
cabin, which proved to be, as they had hoped, occu- 
pied by a negro. He gave them directions as to their 
course, and all the food he had, — a small piece of 
pone bread. 

That day they suffered much, in their hiding place, 
from the cold. That night, avoiding roads, they 
made their way through swamp and thicket, finding 
themselves in the mornino^ chilled with wet clothino- 
and torn by briars. Near morning of the third 
night they reached what seemed to be a swamp. 



AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON. 301 

They concluded to rest on its borders till dawn, and 
then pass through it. Sleep came to them here. 
When they wakened it was full day, and an agree- 
able surprise greeted their eyes. What they sup- 
posed to be a swamp proved to be the Chickahominy 
Eiver. The prospect of meeting this stream had 
given them much mental anxiety. Captain Eowan 
could not swim. Captain Earle had no desire to do 
so, in February. How it was to be crossed had 
troubled them greatly. As they opened their e^^es 
now, the problem was solved. There lay a fallen 
tree, neatly bridging the narrow stream ! In less 
than five minutes they were safely on the other 
side of this dreaded obstacle, and with far better 
prospects than they had dreamed of a few hours 
before. 

By the end of the fourth night they found that 
their six days' stock of food was exhausted, and their 
strength almost gone. Their only hope of food now 
lay in confiscating a chicken from the vicinity of some 
farm-house, and eating it raw. For this purpose 
they cautiously approached the out-buildings of a 
farm-house. Here, while secretly scouting for the 
desired chicken, they were discovered by a negro. 
They had no need to fear him. There is no case on 
record of a negro betraying an escaped prisoner into 
the hands of the enemy. The sympathy of these 
dusky captives to slavery could be safely counted 
upon, and many a fugitive owed to them his safety 
from recapture. 

" Glad to see you, gemmen," he cried, courteously. 
" You's Yankee off 'cers, 'scaped from prison. It's all 

26 



302 HISTORICAL TALES. 

right wid me, gemmen. Come dis way ; you's got to 
be looked arter." 

The kindly sympathy of this dusky friend was so 
evident that they followed him without a thought 
of treachery. He led them to his cabin, where a 
blazing fire in an old-fashioned fireplace quickly re- 
stored that sense of the comfort of warmth which 
they had for days lost. 

Several colored people were present, who sur- 
rounded and questioned them with the warmest 
sympathy. A guard was posted to prevent surprise, 
and the old mammy of the family hastened to pre- 
pare what seemed to them the most delicious meal 
they had ever tasted. The corn-bread pones van- 
ished down their throats as fast as she could take 
them from the hot ashes in which they were baked. 
The cabbage, fried in a skillet, tasted like ambrosia. 
The meat no game could surpass in flavor, and an 
additional zest was added to it by their fancy that 
it had been furnished by the slave-holder's pantry. 
They had partaken of many sumptuous meals, but 
nothing to equal that set before them on the hospi- 
table table of their dusky hosts. They were new 
men, with new courage, when they at length set out 
again, fully informed as to their route. 

On they went through the cold, following the 
difficult paths which they chose in preference to 
travelled roads, while the dogs, — for the peninsula 
seemed to them to be principally peopled by dogs, — 
by their unceasing chorus of barks, right, left, and 
in front, kept them in a state of nervous exasper- 
ation. Many times did they turn from their course 



AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON. 303 

througti fear of detection from these vociferous 
guardians of the night. 

On the fifth day they were visited, in their place 
of concealment, by a snow-storm. Their suffering 
from cold now became so intolerable that they could 
not remain at rest, and they resumed their route 
about four o'clock. Two hours they went, and then, 
to their complete discouragement, found themselves 
back again at their starting-point, and cold, wet, 
tired, and huugry into the bargain. 

As they stood there, expressing in very plain lan- 
guage their opinion of Dame Fortune, a covered cart 
approached. Taking it for granted that the driver 
was a negro, they hailed him; but to their dismay* 
found that they had halted a white man. 

There was but one thing to do. They told him 
that they were Confederate scouts, and asked him 
for information about the Yankee outposts. A short 
conference ensued, which ended in their discovering 
that they were talking to a man of strong Union 
sympathies, and as likely to befriend them as the 
negroes. This was a hopeful discovery. They now 
freely told him who they really were, and in return 
received valuable information as to roads, being told 
in addition where they could find a negro family 
who would give them food. 

" If you can keep out of the way of rebel scouts 
for twenty -four hours more," he continued, "you 
will very likely come across some of your own 
troops. But you are on very dangerous ground. 
Here is the scouting-place of both armies, and guer- 
illas and bushwhackers are everywhere." 



304 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Thanking him, and with hearts filled with new 
hope, the wanderers started forward. At midnight 
they reached the negro cabin to which they had 
been directed, where, to their great relief, they ob- 
tained a substantial meal of corn-bread, pork, and 
rye coffee, and, what was quite as acceptable, a 
warming from a bright fire. The friendly black 
warned them, as their late informant had done, of 
the danger of the ground they had yet to traverse. 

These warnings caused them to proceed very cau- 
tiously, after leaving the hospitable cabin of their 
sable entertainer. But they had not gone far before 
they met an unexpected and vexatious obstacle, a 
river or creek, the Diascon, as the negroes named it. 
They crossed it at length, but not without great 
trouble and serious loss of time. 

It was now the sixth night since their escape. 
Hitherto Captain Eowan had been a model of 
strength, perseverance, and judgment. Now these 
qualities seemed suddenly to leave him. The terri- 
ble strain, mental and physical, to which they had 
been exposed, and their sufferings from cold, fatigue, 
and hunger, produced their effect at last, and he 
became physically prostrate and mentally indifferent. 
Captain Earle, who retained his energies, had great 
difficulty in persuading him to proceed, and before 
daybreak was obliged to let him stop and rest. 

When dawn appeared they found themselves in 
an open country, affording poor opportunities for 
concealment. They felt sure, however, that they 
must be near the Union outposts. With these con- 
siderations they concluded to make their journey 



AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON. 305 

now by day, and in a road. In truth, Eowan had 
lost all care as to how they went and what became 
of them, and his companion's energy and decision 
were on the decline. 

Onward they trudged, mile by mile, with keen 
enjoyment of the highway after their bitter experi- 
ence of by-ways, and somewhat heedless of conse- 
quences, though glad to perceive that no human 
form was in sight. Nine o'clock came. Before them 
the road curved sharply. They walked steadily 
onward. But as they neared the curve there came 
to their ears a most disquieting sound, the noise of 
hoofs on the hard road-bed, the rattle of cavalry 
equipments. A force of horsemen was evidently 
approaching. Were they Union or Confederate ? 
Was freedom or renewed captivity before them ? 
They looked quickly to right and left. No oppor- 
tunity for concealment appeared. Nor was there a 
moment's time for flight, for the sound of hoof-beats 
was immediately followed by the appearance of 
mounted and uniformed men, a cavalry squad, still 
some hundreds of yards away, but riding towards 
them at full gallop. 

The eyes of the fugitives looked wistfully and 
anxiously towards them. Thank Heaven! they 
wore the Union blue! Those guidons which rose 
high in the air bore the Union colors ! They were 
United States cavalry 1 Safety was assured ! 

In a minute more the rattling hoofs were close at 

hand, the band of rescuers were around them ; eager 

questions, glad answers, heartfelt congratulations 

filled the air. In a very few minutes the fugitives 

I.— w 26* 



306 HISTORICAL TALES. 

were mounted and riding gladly back in the midst 
of their new friends, to be banqueted, feasted, and 
feted, until every vestige of their hardships had been 
worn away by human kindness. 

As to their feelings at this happy termination of 
their heroic struggle for freedom, words cannot ex- 
press them. The weary days, the bitter disappoint- 
ments, the harsh treatment of prison life ; the days 
and nights of cold, hunger, and peril, wanderings 
through swamps and thorny thickets, hopes and 
despairs of flight ; all were at an end, and now only 
friends surrounded them, only congratulating and 
commiserating voices met their ears. It was a 
feast of joy never to be forgotten. 

A few words will finish. One hundred and nine 
men had escaped. Of these, fifty -five reached the 
Union fines. Fifty-four were captured and taken 
back to prison. Some of the escaped ofiicers, more 
swift in motion or fortunate in route than the others, 
reached the Union lines on their third day from 
Eichmond. Their report that others were on the 
road bore good fruit. General Butler, then in com- 
mand at Fortress Monroe, sent out, on alternate 
days, the Eleventh Pennsylvania Cavalry and the 
First New York Eifles to patrol the country in 
search of the escaping prisoners, with tall guidons 
to attract their attention if they should be in con- 
cealment. Many of the fugitives were thus rescued. 
The adventures of two, as above given, must serve 
for example of them all. 



THE SINKING OF THE ALBE- 
MARLE, 

ISTaval operations in the American Civil War were 
particularly distinguished by the active building of 
iron-clads. The North built and employed them 
with marked success ; the South, with marked fail- 
ure. With praiseworthy energy and at great cost 
the Confederates produced iron-clad vessels of war 
in Norfolk Harbor, on Eoanoke Eiver, in the Missis- 
sippi, and elsewhere, yet, with the exception of the 
one day's raid of ruin of the Merrimac in Hamp- 
ton Roads, their labor was almost in vain, their ex- 
pensive war-vessels went down in the engulfing 
waters or went up in flame and smoke. Their efforts 
in this direction were simply conspicuous examples 
of non-success. We propose here to tell the tale of 
disaster of the Albemarle, one of these iron-clads, 
and the great deed of heroism which brought her 
career to an untimely end. 

The Albemarle was built on the Eoanoke Eiver 
in 1863. She was of light draught, but of consider- 
able length and width, her hull above the water-line 
being covered with four inches of iron bars. Such 
an armor would be like paper against the great guns 
of to-day j then it served its purpose well. The com- 

307 



I 



308 HISTORICAL TALES. 

petition for effectiveness between rifled cannon and 
armor plates had not yet begun. 

April, 1864, had arrived before this formidable 
opponent of the Union blockading fleet was ready 
for service. Then, one misty morning, down the 
river she went, on her mission of death and destruc- 
tion. The opening of her career was promising. 
She attacked the Union gunboats and fort at Plym- 
outh, near the mouth of the river, captured one of 
the boats, sunk another, and aided in forcing the fort 
to surrender, its garrison being taken prisoners. It 
had been assailed at the same time by a strong land 
force, and the next day Plymouth itself was taken 
by the Confederate troops, with a heavy Union loss 
in men and material. 

So far favoring fortune had attended the Albe- 
marle. Enlivened with success, on a morning in 
May she steamed out into the deeper waters of Albe- 
marle Bay, confident on playing the same role with 
the wooden vessels there that the Merrimac had 
played in Hampton Eoads. She failed in this laud- 
able enterprise. The Albemarle was not so formi- 
dable as the Merrimac. The steamers of war which 
she was to meet were more formidable than the 
Congress and the Cumberland. She first encoun- 
tered the Sassacus, a vessel of powerful armament. 
More agile than the iron-clad, the Sassacus plaj^ed 
round her, exchanging shots, and seeking a vulner- 
able point. At length, under a full head of steam, 
she dashed on the monster, striking a blow which 
drove it bodily half under the water. Recovering 
from the blow, the two vessels, almost side by side, 



THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 309 

hurled 100-pound balls upon each other. Most of 
those of the Sassacus bounded from the mailed sides 
of her antagonist, like hail from stone walls. But 
three of them entered a port, and did sad work 
within. In reply the Albemarle sent one of her 
great bolts through a boiler of the Sassacus, filling 
her with steam. So far the iron-clad had the best of 
the game ; but others of the fleet were now near at 
hand ; the balls which had entered her port had done 
serious injury; she was no longer in fighting trim; 
she turned and made the best of her way back to 
Plymouth, firing as she fled. 

This ended her career for that summer. But re- 
pairs were made, and she was put in fighting trim 
again ; another gunboat was building as a consort ; 
unless something were quickly done she would soon 
be in Albemarle Sound again, with possibly a differ- 
ent tale to tell from that of her first assault. 

At this critical juncture Lieutenant William B. 
Gushing, a very young but a very bold oflScer, pro- 
posed a daring plan ; no less a one than to attack the 
Albemarle at her wharf, explode a torpedo under 
her hull, and send her, if possible, to the bottom of 
the Roanoke. He proposed to use a swift steam- 
launch, run up the stream at night, and assail the 
iron-clad where she lay in fancied security. From 
the bow of the launch protruded a long spar, loaded 
at its end with a 100-pound dynamite cartridge. The 
spar could be lowered by pulling one rope, the car- 
tridge detached by pulling another, and the dynamite 
exploded by pulling a third. 

The proposed exploit was a highly perilous one. 



310 HISTORICAL TALES. 

The Albemarle lay eight miles up the river. Plym- 
outh was garrisoned by several thousand soldiers, 
and the banks of the stream were patrolled by sen- 
tinels all the way down to the bay. It was more 
than likely that none of the adventurers would live 
to return. Yet Gushing and the crew of seven daring 
men whom he selected were willing to take the risk, 
and the naval commanders, to whom success in such 
an enterprise promised the most valuable results, 
agreed to let them go. 

It was a dark night in which the expedition set 
out, — that of October 27, 1864. Up the stream 
headed the little launch, with her crew of seven, and 
towing two boats, each containing ten men, armed 
with cutlasses, grenades, and revolvers. Silently they 
proceeded, keeping to mid-stream, so as to avoid 
alarming the sentinels on the banks. In this suc- 
cess was attained ; the eight miles were passed and 
the front of the town reached without the Confed- 
erates having an inkling of the disaster in store for 
them. 

Eeaching Plymouth, Lieutenant Gushing came to 
a quick decision as to what had best be done. He 
knew the town well. ]!!^o alarm had been given. 
He might land a party and take the Albemarle by 
surprise. He could land his men on the lower wharf, 
lead them stealthily through the dark streets, leap 
with them upon the iron-clad, surprise the officers and 
crew, and capture the vessel at her moorings. It 
was an enterprise of frightful risk, yet Gushing was 
just the man for it, and his men would follow 
wherever he should lead. A low order was given. 



THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 311 

The launch turned and glided almost noiselessly 
towards the wharf. But she was now only a short 
distance from the Albemarle, on whose deck the 
lookout was wide-awake. 

" What boat is that ?" came a loud hail. 

]^o reply. The launch glided on. 

" What boat is that ?" came the hail again, sharper 
than before. 

" Cast off!" said Gushing, in a low tone. The two 
boats were loosened and drifted away. The plan of 
surprise was at an end. The vigilance of the lookout 
had made it impossible. That of destruction re- 
mained. The launch was turned again, and moved 
once more towards the Albemarle. 

They were quickly so close that the hull of the 
iron-clad loomed darkly above them. Upon that 
vessel all was commotiou. The unanswered hail 
was followed by the springing of rattles, ringing of 
bells, running of men, and shouting of orders. Mus- 
kets were fired at random at the dimly seen black 
object. Bullets whizzed past the devoted crew. 
Lights began to flash here and there. A minute 
before all had been rest and silence; now all was 
noise, alanm, and commotion. 

All this did not disconcert the intrepid commander 
of the launch. His main concern at that moment 
was an unexpected obstacle he had discovered, and 
which threatened to defeat his enterprise. A raft of 
logs had been placed around the iron-clad to protect 
her from any such attack. There she lay, not fifty 
feet away ; but this seemingly insuperable obstacle 
intervened. 



312 HISTORICAL TALES. 

What was to be done ? In emergencies like that 
men think quickly and to the point. The raft must 
be passed, or all was at an end. The logs had been 
long in the water, and doubtless were slippery with 
river slime. The launch might be run upon and 
over them. Once inside the raft, it could never re- 
turn. 1:^0 matter for that. He was there to sink 
the Albemarle. The smaller con ^'ngency of losing 
his own life was a matter to be left for an after- 
thought. 

This decision was reached in a moment's thought. 
The noise above them increased. Men were running 
and shouting, lights flashing, landsmen, startled by 
the noise, hurrying to the river-bank. Without 
an instant's delay the launch was wheeled round, 
steamed rapidly into the stream until a good offing 
was gained, turned again, and now drove straight 
forward for the Albemarle with all the power of her 
engines. As she came near bullets poured like hail 
across her decks. One tore off the sole of Cushing's 
shoe ; another went through the back of his coat ; 
it was perilously close and hot work. The hail came 
again : 

"What boat is that?" 

This time Lieutenant Gushing replied. His reply 
was not in words, however, but in a howitzer load of 
canister which drove across the Albemarle's deck. 
The next minute the bow of the launch struck the 
logs. As had been expected, the light craft slid up 
on their slippery surfaces, forcing them down into 
the water. The end of the spar almost touched the 
iron hull of the destined victim. 



THE SINKING OP THE ALBEMARLE. 313 

The first rope was loosened. The spar, with its 
load, dropped under water. The launch was still 
gliding onward, and carrying the spar forward. The 
second cord was pulled ; the torpedo dropped from 
the spar. At this moment a bullet cut across the 
left palm of the gallant Gushing. As it did so he 
pulled the third cord. The next instant a surging 
column of wate. was raised, lifting the Albemarle 
as though the great iron-clad were of feather weight. 
At the same instant a cannon, its muzzle not fifteen 
feet away, sent its charge rending through the tim- 
bers of the launch. 

The Albemarle, lifted for a moment on the boiling 
surge, settled down into the mud of her shallow an- 
chorage, never more to swim, with a great hole torn 
in her bottom. The torpedo had done its work. 
Gushing had earned his fame. 

" Surrender !" came a loud shout from Gonfederate 
lungs. 

" ISTever !" shouted Gushing in reply. " Save your- 
selves !" he said to his men. 

In an instant he had thrown off coat, shoes, sword, 
and pistols, and plunged into the waters that rolled 
darkly at his feet, and in which he had just dug a 
grave for the Albemarle. His men sprung beside 
him, and struck out boldly for the farther shore. 

All this had passed in far less time than it takes 
to tell it. Little more than five minutes had passed 
since the first hail, and already the Albemarle was 
a wreck, the launch destroyed, her crew swimming 
for their lives, and bullets from deck and shore 
pouring thickly across the dark stream. 
27 



314 HISTORICAL TALES. 

The incensed Confederates hastily manned boats 
and pushed out into the stream. In a few minutes 
they had captured most of the swimming crew. 
One sank and was drowned. One reached the shore. 
The gallant commander of the launch they failed to 
find. They called his name, — they had learned it 
from their prisoners, — but no answer came, and the 
darkness veiled him from view. Had he gone to 
the bottom ? Such most of the searchers deemed to 
be his fate. 

In a few minutes the light of a blazing fire flashed 
across the river from Plymouth wharf. It failed to 
reveal any swimming forms. The impression became 
general that the daring commander was drowned. 
After some further search most of the boats returned, 
deeming their work at an end. 

They had not sought far or fast enough. Gushing 
had reached shore — on the Plymouth side — before 
the fire was kindled. He was chilled and exhausted, 
but he dared not stop to rest. Boats were still 
patrolling the stream ; parties of search might soon 
be scouring the river-banks ; the moments were pre- 
cious, he must hasten on. 

He found himself near the walls of a fort. On 
its parapet, towering gloomily above him, a sentinel 
could be seen, pacing steadily to and fro. The fugi- 
tive lay almost under his eyes. A bushy swamp lay 
not far beyond, but to reach its shelter he must cross 
an open space forty feet wide in full view of this 
man. The sentinel walks away. Gushing makes a 
dash for life. But not half the space is traversed 
when his backward glancing eye sees the sentinel 



THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 315 

about to turn. Down he. goes on his back in the 
rushes, trusting to their friendly shelter and the 
gloom of the night to keep him from sight. 

As he lies there, slowly gaining breath after his 
excited effort, four men — two of them officers — pass 
so close that they almost tread on his extended form, 
seeking him, but failing to see what lies nearly under 
their feet. They pass on, talking of the night's 
startling event. Gushing dares not rise again. Yet 
the swamp must be gained, and speedily. Still flat 
on his back, he digs his heels into the soft earth, and 
pushes himself inch by inch through the rushes, 
until, with a warm heart-throb of hope, he feels the 
welcome dampness of the swamp. 

It proves to be no pleasant refuge. The mire is 
too deep to walk in, while above it grow tangled 
briers and thorny shrubs, through which he is able 
to pass only as before, by lying on his back, and 
pushing and pulling himself onward. 

The hours of the night passed. Day dawned. He 
had made some progress, and was now at a safe dis- 
tance from the fort, but found himself still in the 
midst of peril. JNiear where he lay a party of sol- 
diers were at work, engaged in planting obstructions 
in the river, lest the Union fleet should follow its 
daring pioneers to Plymouth, now that the Albe- 
marle was sunk, and the chief naval defence of the 
place gone. 

Just back from the river-bank, and not far from 
where he lay, a cornfield lifted its yellowed plumes 
into the air. Gushing managed to reach its friendly 
shelter unobserved, and now, almost for the first 



316 HISTORICAL TALES. 

time since his escajDC, stoo.d upright, and behind the 
rustling rows made his way past the soldiers. 

To his alarm, as he came near the opposite side of 
the field, be found himself face to face with a man, 
who glared at him in surprise. Well he might, for 
the late trimly-dressed lieutenant was now a sorry 
sight, covered from head to foot with swamp mud, 
his clothes rent, and blood oozing from a hundred 
scratches in his skin. 

He had no reason for alarm ; the man was a 
negro ; the dusky face showed sympathy under its 
surprise. 

" I am a Union soldier," said Gushing, feeling in 
his heart that no slave would betray him. 

" One o' dem as was in de town last night ?" asked 
the negro. 

" Yes. Have you been there ? Can you tell me 
anything ?" 

" No, massa ; on'y I's been tole dat dar's pow'ful 
bad work dar, an' de sojers is bilin' mad." 

Further words passed, in the end the negro agree- 
ing to go to the town, see for himself what harm had 
been done, and bring back word. Gushing would 
wait for him under shelter of the corn. 

The old negro set out on his errand, glad of the 
opportunity to help one of " Massa Linkum's sojers." 
The lieutenant secreted himself as well as he could, 
and waited. An hour passed. Then steps and the 
rustling of the dry leaves of the corn-stalks were 
heard. The fugitive peeped from his ambush. To 
his joy he saw before him the smiling face of his 
dusky messenger. 



THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 317 

"What news?" he demanded, stepping joyfully 
forward. 

" Mighty good news, massa," said the negro, with 
a laugh. "Dat big iron ship's got a hole in her 
bottom big 'nough to drive a wagon in. She's deep 
in de mud, 'longside de wharf, an' folks say she'll 
neber git up ag'in." 

" Good ! She's done for, then ? My work is accom- 
plished ? — ]N"ow, old man, tell me how I must go to 
get back to the ships." 

The negro gave what directions he could, and the 
fugitive took to the swamp again, after a grateful 
good-by to his dusky fi'iend and a warm " God-speed" 
from the latter. It was into a thicket of tangled 
shrubs that Lieutenant Gushing now plunged, so 
dense that he could not see ten feet in advance. But 
the sun was visible overhead and served him as a 
guide. Hour by hour he dragged himself painfully 
onward. At two o'clock in the afternoon he found 
himself on the banks of a narrow creek, a small 
affluent of the Eoanoke. 

He crouched in the bushes on the creek-side, peer- 
ing warily before him. Yoices reached his ears. 
Across the stream he saw men. A minute's observa- 
tion apprised him of the situation. The men he saw 
to be a group of soldiers, seven in number, who had 
just landed from a boat in the stream. As he 
watched, they tied their boat to the root of a tree, 
and then turned into a path that led upward. Eeach- 
ing a point at some distance from the river, they 
stopped, sat down, and began to eat their dinner. 

Here was an opportunity, a desperate one, but 

27* 



318 HISTORICAL TALES. 

Gushing had grown ready for desperate chances. 
He had had enough of wandering through mire and 
thorns. Without hesitation he lowered himself 
noiselessly into the water, swam across the stream, 
untied the boat, pushed it cautiously from the bank, 
and swam with it down the stream until far enough 
away to be out of sight of its recent occupants. 
Then he climbed into the boat and paddled away as 
fast as possible. 

There was no sign of pursuit. The soldiers kept 
unsuspiciously at their mid-day meal. The swamp- 
lined creek-sides served well as a shelter from prying 
eyes. For hours Gushing pursued his slow course. 
The sun sank ; darkness gathered ; night came on. 
At the same time the water widened around him ; he 
was on the surface of the Eoanoke. 

Onward he paddled ; the night crept on till mid- 
night was reached ; for ten hours he had been at that 
exhausting toil. But now before his eyes appeared 
a welcome sight, the dark hull of a Union gunboat. 

" Ship ahoy !" came a loud hail from the exhausted 
man. 

"Who goes there?" answered the lookout on the 
gunboat. 

" A friend. Take me up." 

The gunboat was quickly in motion. This might 
be a Gonfederate ruse, possibly a torpedo might have 
been sent to blow them up ; they were in danger- 
ous waters. Boats were quickly lowered, and rowed 
towards the small object on the stream. 

" Who are you?" came the cry, as they drew near. 

" Lieutenant Gushing, or what is left of me." 



t'r \ 



THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 319 

" Gushing !" was the excited answer. " And the 
Albemarle ?" 

" Will never trouble a Union fleet again. She 
rests in her grave on the muddy bottom of the 
Eoanoke." 

Loud cheers followed this stirring announcement. 
The sailors bent to their oars, and quickly had the 
gallant lieutenant on board. Their cheers were 
heightened tenfold when the crew of the Yalley 
City heard what had been done. In truth, the ex- 
ploit of Lieutenant Gushing was one that for cool- 
ness, daring, and success in the face of seemingly 
insuperable obstacles has rarely been equalled in 
history, and the destruction of the Albemarle ranks 
with the most notable events in the history of war. 



END OF VOL. I. 















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